


I'll Keep You Safe (You'll Keep Me Sane)

by Flukezy



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Rich boy!Jaskier, Slow Burn, bath shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22923097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flukezy/pseuds/Flukezy
Summary: Geralt of Rivia accepts a relatively simple contract from the illustrious Pankratz family, earning a free room in their luxurious home as a welcome bonus. Everything is soon complicated by the sheltered golden child of the family, who is dangerously fascinated by all things Geralt, and always reeks of arousal.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 248
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

Geralt was in the throes of one of the harshest Winters he had ever encountered. While the cold itself didn’t get to his bones or slow him down, he still found great annoyance in the constant heavy rains and winds which wreaked havoc on his camps and on Roach. The Winter kept people in their homes, undisturbed by monsters and thus less likely of needing a Witcher’s assistance. It was during slow times like these that Geralt liked to settle into the nearest large city, rent out rooms in local Inns, occasionally brothels for 3 night stints, and busy himself with less monstrous work. Gangs, corrupt guardsman, the odd serial killer - these offenders made Geralt decent enough coin, but the ease of cutting down sloppy swordsmen was dull in comparison to the thrill of an inhuman enemy. Geralt was experiencing a seasonal slump.

The comfy Alchemy Inn in the Northern city of Oxenfurt had become somewhat of a local haunt for Geralt in the past months. Slumped over his usual ale-sticky corner table, he treated himself to people-watching, and people-listening, if the conversations were interesting enough. Usually they weren’t. The citizens of Oxenfurt are famously open-minded and modern, with many of the city’s dwellers being young students of the local Academy. The Alchemy always hosts talented budding bards, the city streets are makeshift stages for rehearsing theatre troupes, and you can find brimming bookshelves in every building, holding the words of scholars past and present. Geralt doesn’t count himself among the educated and artistic youth, but he does appreciate the energies and promise they bring to the land. 

Staying in Oxenfurt was treating Geralt kindly, yet it was emptying his pockets at a dangerous rate. The Witcher knew he had only a couple weeks left to soak up ale and good culture before he would have to head off with Roach, to search for more significant monster-slaying contracts, and once again live conservatively. It was while he was mulling over travel plans that he overheard a gruff voice at the nearby bar.

“Gots another building contract this mornin’, to start as soon as the sun breaks through again,” a tall man with broad shoulders and well-worked hands hunched over a pint, chatting with a presumed friend.

“Lord and Lady Pankratz are lookin’ to move further into the hills, expand their estate. Don’t know why three people are needin’ so much space, but they’re payin’ good coin.”

His friend, a fisherman judging by the smell of trout Geralt could acutely smell wafting off of him, looked intrigued.

“Reckon there could be any work in it for me? Market’s gettin’ real competitive lately, can’t beat some of the prices these other fellas are offering,” he sighed, “y’know I’m strong, heaving nets and rods day in day out, I could lay some stone.”

“The Lady Pankratz was sayin’ she needed strong men for a more...violent job,” the builder lowered his voice, but this is where the conversation was finally getting interesting, so Geralt tuned in, “Apparently the land they want for the estate is crawling with beasts. Even heard about a large harpy nest problem.”

“Why not just pick a better bit o’ land then?”

“They’re rich enough to see the monsters as an inconvenience, rather than a dealbreaker I s’pose.”

Geralt knew this was a great opportunity for him. Expansive space teeming with monsters to slay, and a rich contractor needing them gone. Good fun and good coin. He knocked back the last gulp of his drink and approached the men at the bar, who cut off their conversation to offer him their full attention. Geralt could smell minor fear from the both of them, but he mainly sensed respect. Oxenfurt was good to him, to Witchers, and to other people outside of the norm.

“Couldn’t help but overhear you talking”, Geralt started gruffly, “any chance you could get me in contact with the Lord or Lady Pankratz?”

“Aye, you’d be perfect for the job, Witcher,” the fisherman looked him up and down, pursing his lips and nodding, “the Lady Pankratz will be out by the docks come sunrise to see the Lord off on a trip to Novigrad, you could meet her there”.

“Hmm. Thanks.” Geralt nodded once, with finality, and departed to his rented room. 

He rested peacefully knowing he could spoil himself with a comfortable bed and everflowing ale for more than a couple of weeks.

~

Geralt sat atop a water-damaged dock post and watched from afar as curious townspeople gathered around the harbour to see off the noble Lord Pankratz, and catch a glimpse at the notoriously beautiful Lady Pankratz, as she waved him off on his journey. 

Some less interested fishmongers spoke behind Geralt’s back.

“Who gives a shite about some rich prick goin’ to drink wine with some other rich pricks,” complained one woman, “they scurry off on trips and host extravagant parties, waving old money around for no good reason while mothers and children starve in the streets.”

Geralt agreed with the sentiment, holding his own apprehension against the wealthy and high class. He knew too well of the struggles of the people, of injustice and of war. Coins could be a lot better spent on those in the streets than being passed between the already wealthy.

However, as a Witcher, Geralt ultimately saw work as work for himself. Lady Pankratz could offer him a good contract, and he was willing to take it despite his personal differences with the woman. She paid those who worked for her generously, at the very least. Geralt decided he would make sure a decent amount of his payment went to someone in town who needed it. The good innkeeper of the Alchemy was expecting a third child with his wife, a strain on finances - a generous tip to him after being so welcoming to the Witcher would not go astray.

It was then that Geralt caught sight of Lord and Lady Pankratz waltzing arm in arm down the jetty, towards a handsomely crewed, Novigrad-bound ship. Lord Pankratz dressed more modestly than expected, most likely to be comfortable on his journey. In a simple grey linen tunic, his blonde hair slicked back, he looked naturally handsome. He charmed the local townspeople with greetings as he walked by, a symbol of sophistication in the way he held himself, not at all held back by his manner of dress. Lady Pankratz looked at him with a fond smile, dressed much more elegantly in a dusty pink dress, her dark brown hair pulled back in a bun with braids for embellishment. 

While the couple were now approaching their presumed 50th Winters, they looked youthful - smooth, unused hands, no grey hairs from stress, no weathering on their skin from the heat of the sun or the furrow of their brows. Geralt couldn’t imagine living a life like theirs, free of physical labour, able to live in excess for as long as so desired. It seemed so boring, so meaningless, to Geralt. These people were of a different culture entirely to Geralt, and he didn’t see him becoming close to them over the duration of his contract. Not that he cared at all. 

He hadn’t made an effort to make any personal connections during his stay in Oxenfurt. Maybe the dull work of Oxenfurt would be less boring if he had somebody to spend his spare time with. A friend, or a lover. The years had left Geralt tired of small talk, of having to keep up with the appropriate social conduct that varied from city to city. It never seemed worth it, as he always had to leave his personal connections quickly - it was the nature of his work, to move around. And so he found company in Roach, and in himself. He wondered if he seemed stunted to this generation, if he had fallen so behind that he could no longer relate or connect to anyone around him.

He was snapped out of his train of thought by a third member of the nobility trailing behind the Lord and Lady. A young man, perhaps 20 or 30 Winters deep into life, near-pranced down the docks with a lute on his back. He greeted the townspeople, ignorant to whether they smiled or swore in response. Donned in a powder blue tunic and tights, his brown hair artfully swept across his forehead, he was the perfect stereotype of a noble only child. He appeared...sheltered. He avoided eye contact with the rough fishermen and fishmongers glaring his way, and quickly looked away when he spotted poor townspeople sitting in their filth on the street, trying to keep his attention steady ahead on what he knew, and understood - luxury. His luxuriously wealthy parents, the luxurious ship his Father was due to board. Geralt sized him up as a true stranger to the real world - an academy student with fully-paid tuition, an overblown idea of his musical talents, and an ego much larger than his small stature. Geralt had been around the block enough times to read people well.

He waited for the Lord to disappear over the horizon, for the crowds to dissipate, and for the Lady, her son, and their guards, to begin their journey back home. Geralt then moved in, walking alongside the guards, filling them in on his need to offer his services to the Lady Pankratz.

“And what services of yours would I need?” The woman chimed in, relaxing the guards and allowing Geralt to walk beside her with an elegant wave of her hand.

“I heard you had a monster problem,” Geralt replied, “I’m Geralt, a Witcher.”

“I could tell from the swords and the eyes, my dear,” she said coolly, “you’re right that you could be of great help to us, I’m glad you’re here.”

Geralt noted the rhyme - knowing the Lady herself was a notable songstress, an Academy alumni who lectured occasionally at the institution. 

“I’m happy to get to work whenever it would please you Lady Pankratz, I take fifty percent of payment up front”, Geralt was professional, to the point.

“Now, now, lets slow down and discuss this over lunch,” Lady Pankratz reasoned, “and you may address me as Helena, as I surmise we will be spending quite a lot of time together in the near future.”

Geralt didn’t take up contracts for high tea and pleasantries - he liked hard work. And he liked to go at it alone. But it was tough to resist the allure of Helena’s potential offer of both coin and worthy enemies.

“It’s a pleasure, Helena,” he gave in, his eyes not expressing his sentiment, luckily Helena walked to his side, unable to read his emotionless features.

“And behind us is my dear son Jaskier,” she gestured to the young man behind her, who had been plucking odd chords on his lute, humming softly to himself.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt with a small smile and offered an awkward wave, probably having never faced a Witcher before. Geralt nodded silently in recognition, before turning back around.

Approaching the Pankratz residence, Geralt couldn’t help but wonder why the small family wished to move. A three levelled residence right near the academy, strongly built, with well maintained greenery surrounding its front and climbing gracefully up its stone walls. A hired guard stood post at the front door, and nodded the escort guards and the family into the home. 

The interior screamed artistic grandeur, paintings and tapestries lining the walls between gaps in velvety curtains and drapery. Needlepoint cushions adorned the plush sofas in the main living space, with a glass table of spirits centered between the seating, for easy access in the event of a party. A maid zipped around the house, wiping down bookshelves and tables with a dusting rag. She startled slightly when she saw Geralt enter, and quickly looked away.

Helena took off her shawl and draped it over a coat rack already covered in various elegant pieces. Jaskier kicked off his boots and slinked around in his socks, flopping promptly onto an armchair. Geralt held back a scoff as a member of the house staff immediately came over to the young bard and offered him refreshments and fresh bread. Helena led Geralt a room over to a small dining hall, a long wooden table with intricate carving sat covered in cheeses, warm bread, and bunches of ripe grapes. Geralt sat with Helena and accepted a glass of red wine, despite his strong preference for ale.

“So, what do you know about my predicament?” the Lady asked, nibbling at a finely aged cheese.

“Overheard one of your construction workers discussing a beast problem on your estate’s land,” Geralt replied, Helena hummed in agreement, and washed down her cheese with a generous gulp of wine.

“Yes, we have lost a few men to wild wolves and dogs, and a harpy nest has been spotted atop a hill we wish to develop into a garden and lookout,” she explained, “I have also been told by some shocked scouts about a possible wraith infestation in a nearby cave. While we don’t wish to build around the cave, it is a bit too close to home for us to feel safe leaving them alive”.

Geralt didn’t hear any challenge he couldn’t rise to. This would definitely be more than a day’s work. He could barter a healthy price for this job.

“I can clear the lands for you within a week, possibly two if I were to discover a higher number of beasts than expected, or a more sinister enemy hiding deeper in the cave you speak of”.

“That all sounds fine to me. I am happy to offer you 400 crowns upfront, and another 400 once the job is completed,” Geralt was happy with that, “If the job is more difficult than expected, we can renegotiate the second payment installment. And if you are interested in more long term work, and more pay, I would love for you to stay during construction of the Estate to ensure no more creatures make themselves apparent.”

“How long would this stay be?” Geralt worried about the long term costs of the inn, and how he would almost definitely have to take up camp in the forests to save his contract pay responsibly, “staying at the Alchemy is not the ideal long term living situation.”

Helena fell silent, munching at bread with furrowed brows; pondering. She spoke up with finality in her voice.

“The stay would perhaps be ‘till next Winter, and I would be ecstatic to have you stay here, with us. You will be sheltered, generously fed, and waited on at no charge. I know I have my own guards, but having you close by would make me feel safer while my husband is away.”

“I’m not a bodyguard,” Geralt grunted.

“But with the generosity I am showing you, I am sure you would not let me come into harm’s way,” she smirked, knowing she was right. Geralt was not about to bite the hand that was feeding him.

Geralt sat back and considered Helena’s offer. Free housing, free food, it was tempting. It did come at the cost of his pride, and his solitude, however. At that moment, a charming young woman of the house staff leaned over his shoulder and refilled his wine glass, offering him a sultry smirk and brush of her hand against his arm as she departed. 

“I find your offer too good to refuse, Lady Pankrast,” he conceded, offering his hand over the table, which Helena firmly shook. 

“I will have a room prepared for you, return come nightfall with your things. We will make sure a serving of dinner is made for you if you wish to come earlier in the evening,” and with that, she stood up and left, wine glass in hand. Geralt nicked a roll of bread to leave with himself.

~

Geralt returned as the sun was setting, bags in hand, and was let in without a word by the guards. They seemed to side eye him as he entered the house, perhaps frustrated or threatened by his sudden appointment to a position higher than their own. He couldn’t blame them.

“Welcome Sir Geralt, I am Mrs. Florence Quinn, allow me to show you to your room,” the frightened maid from earlier in the day smiled through the fear Geralt could smell. 

“How long have you been working for the Pankrasts?” Geralt asked as he walked beside her.

“More than half my life Sir,” she stated, judging by the wrinkles beginning to set in on her face and body, Geralt assumed she was hired as soon as she entered adulthood.

“Has the family been good to you?” He persisted, curious about his new roommates.

“Cannot complain Sir,” her voice lowered slightly, “though they live very differently to most. The Lord and Lady, Gods bless them, try as they might but they can be ignorant to my and the other staff’s struggles. For myself I-”

She cut herself off, seeming shocked at her honesty. Geralt sensed she had been needing to let this rant escape for some time.

“It’s okay, go on. I’ve more in common with you than the Lord and Lady,” Geralt said softly, the scent of fear diminishing on the woman.

They stopped outside the door to Geralt’s room.

“I have three kids, sir, not youngins anymore, but I was working here when they were,” she sighed, “Sometimes I feel more of a Mother to Jaskier than my own flesh and blood. The job pays well, but it is demanding, Sir.”

Geralt nodded in understanding. Florence probably could not afford to give up such a position with the Pankratz'. Geralt couldn’t imagine the pain of constantly feeling the desire to express love to your children through physical touch and words, but needing to settle for showing support through the shelter and food provided to them by your hard work. The sacrifice and fruits of Florence’s hard work was a grand display of love for her children, but that probably didn’t communicate clearly to the babes when they were young and missing their absent Mother. 

“I respect and admire you, Mrs. Quinn,” Geralt looked deep into the glassy eyes of the shorter woman, “You’ve done a fantastic job with the hand life has dealt you, and I’m sure your children appreciate all you have done for them over the years.”

Florence nodded and sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, the scent of fear replaced with that of sadness. 

“Thank you, Sir Geralt,” she whispered, “I must admit I judged you by your looks, and the false reputation that precedes you. But you are a good man. I look forward to serving you.”

“I look forward to spending more time with you. I’m in need of some good, honest company while I’m here,” Geralt and Florence shared gentle half smiles, and the Witcher turned to enter his new room.

~

Geralt’s room was fitted with a large bed covered in thick woolen blankets, with feather stuffed pillows and a hand-carved headboard. A deep bath sat in the far corner, a shelf alongside it stocked with scented oils, washes and a selection of candles. It was luxurious and not of Geralt’s typical taste. There was far too much space, too much art, too many rugs and decorative figurines. Geralt would prefer a more utilitarian room, stripped down to quality essentials, no fuss no mess. 

He let his concerns slip away as he stepped into a steaming drawn bath, near drifting off as he rested his head back against the rim of the tub. His sense of calm was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by an unfamiliar male voice.

“Dinner is served for you and the family, SIr Geralt,” perhaps a butler or cook announced.

Geralt called out an acknowledgement and climbed out of the bath, drying off, pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and slipping into a simple white shirt and black pants. 

“Geralt! I hope you are settling in nicely,” Helena welcomed him into the dining room. She sat beside her son, and Geralt sat opposite them, at his readied meal setting. 

“I must say the luxury is unfamiliar, but welcomed, my Lady,” he replied, tucking into his meat and vegetables.

“I’m sure Jaskier would be delighted to show you the rest of our home once we are done with our meals,” Helena smiled. Geralt looked to Jaskier, who looked back at him with slightly widened eyes, before gulping down his mouthful of dinner and speaking.

“Yeah! Yes, I could do that. It would be my pleasure to show you around, Sir Geralt,” The bard said with an unnecessary volume to his voice which suggested nerves. He nodded too energetically as he spoke, before going silent as quickly as he’d spoken up, focusing back down on his food.

“Just Geralt is fine, I’d prefer you all to not worry about the formalities with me,” Geralt said, looking around the room as he spoke, to make sure the several present members of house staff understood that they too were being addressed. Nods resounded around the room.

The rest of the meal was enjoyed in silence, a fire roaring in the hearth of the stone fireplace, blocking out the chill of the fierce winds outside.

“Off you two trot, I do hope you find our home to be satisfactory, Geralt. I bid you goodnight, we will discuss further details of your work come morning,” Helena pushed her chair in and departed the dining room back to her private quarters. 

“Soo…” Jaskier stood behind his chair, tapping the back of it awkwardly with his hands, “a tour for the Witcher?”

“If you’d rather busy yourself some other way, I’m fine to see myself around,” Geralt shrugged, pretty indifferent to the situation. 

He perceived Jaskier’s nervous demeanour as being a temporary reaction while he worked out his standing with the older man. While working for his Mother, it couldn’t be denied that the Witcher had an authoritative presence, which demanded respect. Jaskier wasn’t sure who the true boss was in this situation. And being used to having privilege over all of those around him, Geralt knew this was a foreign situation. Or maybe having a mutant monster slayer taking up space around his home was just intimidating.

“No! No! Come this way,” Jaskier righted himself, gesturing for Geralt to follow him as he exited the dining hall into a second living space. Geralt curiously followed.

“This is my preferred sitting area,” Jaskier stood in the center of the room, facing Geralt, and extended his hands out as if to present the area. 

Geralt noted the theatrical aesthetic of the room, the red curtains resembling those seen on grand stages, and the generous amount of candles adorning shelves and tables, as well as tall free standing candelabras. Jaskier’s affinity for this particular room revealed more of his personality. 

“Hmm. Very grand,” Geralt leaned against the doorway, feeling out of place in his casual wear.

“I have an attraction to the melodramatic,” Jaskier shrugged, “we have but one life, and I wish to spend mine surrounded by colour and grandeur.”

“You’re very lucky to have that opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck, my family has worked very hard for all we have,” Jaskier defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest, his puffy sleeves bunching up ridiculously around his neck.

“And you will continue a legacy of hard work and fortune with...your lute?” Geralt pushed, curious for a reaction.

“You know, Witcher, you may not understand it because you spend your days in caves brutishly fighting beasts, but music and performance is an art highly valued by many people,” Jaskier grabbed a bunch of papers from the couch with his fist and shook them at Geralt, “A beautifully written and composed ballad would earn me twice the fame and coin that slaying a dragon could.” 

The bard’s face was pink, his voice a little shaky perhaps from never needing to yell at anyone to get his point across or get what he wants. Geralt indeed knew the value and beauty of the arts, but doubted Jaskier’s potential contribution. He couldn’t see such a privileged, sheltered man as having much to say that anybody would care about, or relate to. But alas.

“My apologies,” He bowed his head slightly to look at Jaskier, who had crowded in close during his rant. 

The bard wasn’t much shorter than Geralt, but carried a much smaller frame. Narrow shoulders and waist, with delicate hands clenched around his written ballads. When Jaskier looked up at him, the angle of his face made him look quite...feminine? No. Soft. Wisps of brown hair lay gently across his forehead, his eyes big and blue, and both his cheeks and lips a subtle shade of pink. Jaskier seemed to be intently mapping out Geralt’s features at the same time. Though Geralt was not sure what for. To be honest and fair, he didn’t really have a reason for looking so intently at Jaskier himself, either. 

The stare off was ended by Geralt clearing his throat, and raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh! I-I accept your apology, Geralt,” Jaskier shook his head slightly and stepped away, looking down, “We lead very different lives, and I am sure there is a lot about each other we do not know or understand, which neither of us is to blame for. You are helping out my family with your skills, and I must respect your profession.”

He met Geralt’s eyes once more, “So I’m sorry, too”. 

Geralt was impressed, and respected the turn the conversation had taken. While Jaskier had been quick to snap, there was a level of maturity and intelligence to him. Geralt was now interested in finding out more about Jaskier’s approach to life and his outlooks, because he was indeed right - they lead very different lives, and while incredibly old, there were still things Geralt did not know or understand. He should be keen to learn, not quick to judge. 

“Good we’ve got back on the right foot, going to be spending a lot of time together it seems, hmm?” Geralt lightened the conversation, now done with the emotional apologies and introspection.

“Yes! So it seems,” Jaskier gave a small smile, now walking Geralt down a set of stairs, “Y’know, when Mum told me we were going to be sharing our home with a Witcher, I thought she’d lost it,” he said.

“Didn’t want an emotionless killing machine sleeping in the next room down I suppose?” Geralt guessed, with humour, which probably didn’t communicate through his gruff monotone. 

“Well...yeah,” Jaskier and Geralt had reached the bottom of the stairs, and Jaskier’s reply sounded sincere, “I had never met a Witcher before, only heard the tales. But now that we’ve met and spoke you seem...like you have no intent on killing us in our sleep. I was wrong, I suppose,” he admitted, looking up at Geralt with those big blue eyes again.

“Feel free to exhale and sleep with both eyes closed, Jaskier. I’m here to keep you safe,” the two walked through the household’s kitchen, already cleaned for the night, the staff home to bed. 

Jaskier broke their path to veer towards the pantry cupboards, yanking them open to retrieve two sweet looking pink apples, tossing one to the Witcher and taking a bite out of his own. 

“Thanks. Perhaps while you’re here I can pick your brain about the life of a Witcher. The tales I heard, while perhaps inaccurate, were enthralling,” he hopped up on an island counter to enjoy his fruity dessert, his legs swinging gently in front of him, dancing above the floorboards, “I’ve no doubt you’ve seen and done many fascinating things, Geralt, there could be some great ballads in your story!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Geralt said through a delicious mouthful of his own apple, “It’s not all slaying monsters in great battles. It’s a lot of swimming through shit-infested water, sleeping rough in the wilderness, bartering contract prices and being spat on in the streets by strangers.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed, “Well that doesn’t sound too fun.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, though,” Geralt raised his apple like he was proposing a toast, and took a few more final bites, “Where shall I dispose of-”

“Ah! Give it here and I’ll put it with the rest,” Jaskier hopped off the counter and snatched the apple core from Geralt, beckoning him to follow as he took the scraps to a nearby bucket full of other fruit and vegetable remains.

“Makes great food for the plants. I love gardening. While we have hired gardeners who do most of the work, but I have a small section of our land dedicated to my work, I grow a lot of flowers,” Jaskier was bright eyed and spoke fast as he explained his passion, “My favourites to grow have always been the dandelions, which is why Mum and Dad call me Jaskier - it means Dandelion in the language of a land they frequently travelled around before I was born.”

“Well lead the way, I’m curious now,” Geralt said, and followed Jaskier back up the stairs and out a set of double doors.

Jaskier led the two men to a small secluded area of the garden, separated from the rest of the area by tall wooden frames covered in weaving and climbing wisteria flowers. A stone path split through the flora, leading to a white stone bench and bird bath in the centre of the space. Jaskier lit a hanging lantern and illuminated the vibrant colours of the many, many flowers. Geralt stood in the middle of Jaskier’s garden, and turned around slowly, wordlessly, taking in the atmosphere. It was a spectacular effort, and the fresh scents of roses and honeysuckle were a pleasure for the senses.

“What do you think?” Jaskier asked, seated upon the bench, his legs tucked criss cross under him. Geralt looked at him over his shoulder, noting how small he looked that way. Vulnerable, young. 

“Hmm,” Geralt closed his eyes and took another whiff, his heightened sense of smell differentiating and listing all the flowers around him, “it’s nice”.

“Just nice?” Jaskier scoffed, “you look like you’re trying to suck all the plants out of their soil with your nostrils, Sir Geralt. I think you think you love it.”

Geralt chuckled lowly, and sat down beside him, his legs spread and leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. 

“You’re very sure of yourself.” 

“I’m very sure of my garden. This is my zone, this is my creative hub,” he explained, “this is where the magic happens,” he gently nudged Geralt’s shoulder.

“You’re definitely building up high expectations for your musical talents, Jaskier,” Geralt looked back at the bard over his shoulder, a glint in his eye, “Don’t know if you’ll be able to measure up.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, his mouth popping open in melodramatic shock. A delicate hand rested outstretched on his chest, which began shaking as he broke out in laughter.

“I’m the most talented up-and-coming bard in all of Oxenfurt! The girls at the Academy gush over my ballads.”

“That's why you do the singing bit? The female attention?” Geralt asked, “not a bad strategy”.

Jaskier let out a quiet, lighthearted chuckle.

“Not my intention, no,” and with that, he stood up and brushed himself off, “it’s getting late, I should depart to my chambers. I can show you the rest of the house tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“Sure, goodnight Jaskier,” Geralt nodded, “if you don’t mind, I may meditate here for a small while. Good spot for it.”

“Oh. Of course! Of course,” Jaskier turned to walk off, but stopped after a few steps and looked back and said gently, “I look forward to spending more time with you, Geralt. You interest me greatly.”

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckled, looking down, not used to sincere compliments, “see you tomorrow, Jaskier.” 

“Right,” Jaskier nodded, and with that he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt walked side by side with Lady Pankratz in the garden early the next morning, the sounds of birds chirping and the flowing water of the fountain centrepiece provided a calming ambience in contrast to the grim conversation.

“I have lost several men to the beasts on our new land,” Helena’s eyes stayed cast forward as she told her story, unfocused, as if she was recalling vivid memories while she spoke, “We had no idea what awaited us, when my husband and I first rode horseback through the area it had been peaceful. Upon our return...an infestation.”

“And you can’t just...find a new expanse of land?” Geralt thought that the entire issue was entirely avoidable, and couldn’t understand why the Pankratz’ didn’t simply up and leave at the first sight of trouble.

“No, you don’t understand Geralt. This space is simply divine, it’s exactly what we want, where we want to be, and where we want the future generations of our family to delight in also being,” Helena swooned over her block of land, and Geralt had no reason to push the lady paying him.

“Hmm. Suppose I should see this divine land, then. See what all the fuss is about,” Geralt and Helena approached the stables, each mounting their respective horse, two guards saddling steeds behind them. 

After an hour’s journey, Geralt knew exactly when the party was approaching the infamous expanse of land. A vast flowering meadow, split by a brook streaming with fresh water. In the distance, an arrangement of smooth boulders, a cave clear amidst them. The meadow was bordered by thick woods, towering old trees hiding a multitude of horrors, ready to pounce on the peaceful fields at any moment. 

Helena and her guards stopped their horses at the edge of the meadow, knowing better than to go further. Geralt followed suit. 

“The evil activity has so far been confined to the cave and not far into the woods,” Helena gestured elegantly to the noted areas, “I do not expect you to begin slaying today, but if you would like, you may carefully examine the area while the guards are here to support you.”

Geralt hopped off Roach and secured his swords on his back, keen to sense the activity in the area to understand his enemy. 

“I don’t require backup,” he said over his shoulder, the guards grumbling to each other under their breath in response, “if you would like to ride back home, I won’t be far behind.”

“You do your work as you see best, as long as I get results,” Helena and Geralt shared a respectful nod, before she and her escort rode away, leaving Geralt and Roach to their business.

Geralt tread carefully around the meadow, and focused his senses to gain a better picture of the space. Dried blood spotted over a patch of nearby daffodils, mostly human, some wolf. Most likely where Helena’s scouts had been attacked. The blood tracked towards the woods, and thinned out quickly, unable to follow. The wolves and other worldly beasts found their home in the maze of trees. 

The nearby cave reeked of monster activity, emitting a dark energy; otherworldly. Geralt could assume necrophages. Ghouls, foglets, and hags. The cave was a presumed hotbed of vile evil and corruption of nature. A challenge for another time.

In the distance, Geralt could see two small mountains, to be reached only via the woods. He saw two small figures flying above the right peak. Harpies. This was the location of the nest, and Geralt was going to have to lay out a plan for the nefarious journey to the winged enemy. 

Satisfied with what he had learned, and yearning for lunch, Geralt decided to allow himself the night to plan his method of attack. He mounted Roach and rode back to the city, ready to get to work tomorrow.

~

When Geralt arrived home, he was informed by a front guard that he could not hold an assembly with Helena to discuss his work, as she was out with an old friend and would be ‘till past sundown. He could, however, meet with his readily cooked lunch, laid out for him in the dining hall. Famished from his trip and his skipping of breakfast, Geralt walked briskly to the table, shucking off his swords and leaving them on a sprawling sofa on his way. 

Jaskier sat alone already at the dining table, slurping his pea and ham soup down without any care in the world. He had several books open around him, full of the poetry and ballads of famous artists, as well as his own scribblings and musings. His eyes lit up when they rose to meet Geralt’s, a beaming smile welcoming him closer. Geralt sat down wordlessly across from the bard, his bowl promptly placed in front of him by the cook. 

“How did you go out there?” Jaskier had abandoned his soup and books entirely to chase after Geralt’s story, keen to hear about beasts and battle.

“Did a general scout of the area, see what I’m working with,” Geralt took a swig of the flagon of ale in front of him, “didn’t slay any beasts today, if that’s what you wanted to hear.”

“That was what I was hoping to hear about, yes. Come on, O’ mighty Witcher! You’re the most exciting thing to happen in my life, for quite a while, and you’re giving me absolutely nothing!” 

Geralt huffed out a small chuckle, shaking his head at the dramatics of the young man. He doubted how exciting his presence could be to a rich young lad with a life bursting at the seams with coin, creativity, and connections. He wondered as much aloud. Jaskier rested his elbows on the table, his chin cradled in his upward palms, and sighed. 

“To be quite honest, I feel like I’m trapped in here. I cannot complain too much, as this isn’t a bad place to be trapped at all. I’m pampered, frankly. But I am an artist, and art is the product of emotion, and of worldly experience. I can only feel and experience so much when I am only seen here, and in class,” Jaskier ranted, while Geralt silently ate and enjoyed the hell out of his soup, “I am the only Pankratz son, I am expected to protect and continue a legacy, and as such cannot be put in harm’s way. I know Mother and Father love me, but I am a man now, and their love is stifling me.”

“And you see me as...a window to a life more exciting than your own? A life more encouraging of artistic expression?” Geralt drew out his conclusion slowly, gauging Jaskier’s reactions to see if he was on the right path. Jaskier nodded along with him, affirming his thoughts.

“Basically, yeah,” Jaskier sighed again, his elbows collapsing under him and his arms folding onto the table. He rest the side of his face against his forearms, a woeful sight to see.

“I just want to go out there, taste a slice of life,” he said quietly, “what I wouldn’t give to go out there and do what you do, just for a day. How much more exciting would that be? How inspiring would a life like yours be...I can only imagine. The stories and lyrics would flow out of me like wine from a barrel.”

Geralt unceremoniously lifted his bowl and drank the dregs of his soup, before rising from his chair and walking around to the other side of the table. He pulled up the chair beside Jaskier, and sat beside him. Awkwardly, he raised a hand and rested it upon the bard’s back, in what he hoped was a supportive gesture.

“You would not enjoy a life like mine.”

Jaskier’s tunic was soft and silky underneath Geralt’s rough and calloused hands. Geralt began to rub his thumb up and down rhythmically, soothing the bard who let out a single pathetic sniffle, indicative of his tears. He caught the eye of a maid standing in the doorway, on standby to work and clean. He cast a disgruntled expression her way and mouthed ‘What do I do?’, to which she promptly mimed stroking her own hair, followed by a thumbs up. He surmised her knowledge on what to do meant that Jaskier crying was not a one-time-only event, and that he had been soothed in such a fashion before. Most likely by his Mother, who treated her only son like a walking ray of sunshine.

Geralt let his hand trail up, up from Jaskier’s back over the nape of his neck. His hand looked rather large draped over the back of the bard’s slim neck, he put a conscious effort into keeping his touch feather light, understanding his ability to hurt someone so delicate with little effort. He pondered how easily he could grab Jaskier around the back of his neck, haul him up and tell him to stop crying and appreciate what he had. But he felt softened by Jaskier’s vulnerability around him. People held high guards around him, as a Witcher, whereas Jaskier so easily let his guard down and welcomed him with innocent wonder, unafraid to joke with him and now to confide in him. Geralt appreciated the feeling of developing a sincere human connection for the first time in a long while.

Geralt’s hand reached Jaskier’s soft hair, and he hesitantly began stroking. From the crown of his head, down to the fine strands at the back of his neck, before reaching up and stroking down again. He kept this pattern, and felt Jaskier relax underneath his touch. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier said softly, “I just want to enjoy some freedom.”

“I understand.”

“Do you think that maybe, I could go out on one of your hunts with you? I would keep my distance, promise. Just wanna see, I s’pose. Since you’re a shit storyteller.”

“Absolutely not, your Mother would kill me,” Geralt paused, “and a wolf would probably make quick work of you, too.”

Jaskier huffed, “I could stay on my horse? I’d be a safe distance behind you, and I could take off home if anything looked at me the wrong way.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier shucked off Geralt’s hand and sat up, his tears were now dry and he was back to his usual self.

“C’mon Geralt, if it made you feel better I could do some basic sword training? And we could go out at night! Mum would never know, I’m chummy with the guards and they wouldn’t say a thing. I swear it.”

Geralt knew it was a horrible, risky, stupid idea to bring the Pankratz’s sheltered golden child out on a hunt. The boy exuded an air of incompetence in combat and self defense, with his skinny arms, soft hands and inability to stay quiet. But Geralt could only think of the thrill of his first experiences slaying wild beasts and monsters. The pure adrenaline rush of sneaking behind enemy lines, and of using his strength and skill to defeat an evil. He could never forget the first ghoul, or first werewolf he had laid eyes on - he found the monsters frightening, vile and deserving of death; yet inexplicably astonishing. He felt most alive when in the company of nature’s most spectacular atrocities. Jaskier had probably never had the chance to feel a rush somewhat similar, had never experienced the high of brushing with the supernatural. If he was kept safe for the experience of seeing what Geralt saw and did on a hunt, he could escape the confines of monotonous domestic life, for a freeing and enlightening moment. Geralt wished for Jaskier to live in such a moment, and let the experience sweep him away artistically.

“Fine,” he grunted, the sincerity of his thoughts left uncommunicated aloud, “we will head to the outskirts of the city tonight, to the farming lands, and see if you can swing a sword.”

Jaskier beams, jumping up from his chair and nodding down at Geralt, “Thank you, I’ll see you out front the minute Mother retires to her chambers, I’ll see that I have two wooden swords ready for us,” he then leant in closer to Geralt awkwardly, like he was about to give him a hug, before his better judgement stopped him. He settled for a singular pat on the larger man’s strong shoulder, before skipping away to his room. 

Geralt sat and stewed in his budding sense of regret.

~

“Goodnight, Helena,” Geralt had escorted the Lady to her chambers after their discussion of his plans to tackle the beasts and monsters in the woods. She was satisfied and patient, trusting in Geralt’s own abilities to orchestrate his work.

“Thank you, and goodnight, Geralt,” she closed her door behind her gently, and with the muffled sound of water being poured into an awaiting tub, Geralt departed to the front garden to meet Jaskier. 

“Gods, did you and Mother want to talk for any longer? If I didn’t know any better I would assume you were telling her your life story, and you’ve been alive a long time, old man,” Jaskier stood hunched over a wooden sword like it was a walking cane, to which Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to do this or not, bard?”

“Yes I do! Off we go then!” Jaskier climbed atop his horse clumsily, before giving the grey mare a gentle peck on the top of her head and whispering an apology to her for his unceremonious mounting.

Jaskier and Geralt settled in an expanse of field by the sea just outside of Oxenfurt’s walls. The two were dimly lit by the various firelit lamps and torches of the city. Geralt settled the horses by a tree while Jaskier bounced lightly on his toes, engaging in rudimentary stretching exercises. Geralt watched silently as Jaskier struggled to touch his toes. Jaskier looked entirely unprepared for combat in his baby blue jacket, the high collar and puffed sleeves sure to restrict his movement. 

“Take off the jacket,” Geralt said, holding out a hand to take it from him and store it in his saddle bag.

“But I’ll be entirely too cold without it,” Jaskier pouted, wrapping his arms around himself to protect his ridiculous outerwear.

“Would you prefer to be cold or dead?”

“Would you prefer to be cold or dead?” Jaskier repeated in a crude low-pitched impression of Geralt, all the while taking off his jacket and handing it to the Witcher.

Geralt stored the jacket and turned back around to see Jaskier left in his loose white linen shirt. The roomy shirt exposed Jaskier’s sharp collarbones, and made him look rather delicate. Jaskier’s incessant shivering wasn’t making him look masculine, either. He glared at Geralt, like a hurt puppy.

“You don’t get it, you can’t feel the cold. You can’t feel anything you merciless oaf, look at you! I’m suffering greatly and all you do is judge me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and armed himself with his wooden sword, assuming combat position. Jaskier scrambled for his own sword, holding it vertically in front of him like a shield, with two white-knuckled fists clutching the hilt.

“Relax,” Gerat instructed, Jaskier following, “stand to your side with your dominant foot forward, and your sword outwards in front of it to protect yourself. You want to make yourself a smaller target.”

Jaskier stood on-guard, and Geralt took slow practising steps towards him.

“Pretend my swings are the lunges of a beast, and try to protect yourself from them.”

Geralt swung for Jaskier’s legs, followed by a pointed attack at his stomach, ending with an overarm swing to the crown of his head. Jaskier clumsily blocked the first two, and ran to the left with a shriek at the last false attempt on his life. His reflexes were intact, but the strength of his blocking wasn’t enough - he held his sword flimsily, and any creature could smack it out of the way effortlessly. 

“You have to hold your sword more firmly, try both hands. Keep your elbows and frame strong and aim not just to block attacks, but to push back against them.” 

The two sparred for another hour, Jaskier learning how to most effectively protect his head, chest and legs. They also worked on footwork, which Jaskier was much better at than the armed combat side of things - the man enjoyed dancing, and his keen sense of rhythm and movement made him light and quick on his feet. 

“Let’s put it all together. I’m not going as easy now,” Geralt and Jaskier took position for the climactic ending to their lesson, a final battle to allow Jaskier to combine all that he had learned.

Geralt lunged forward and cast various one-handed attacks, up, left, down, right, over. Jaskier alternated between standing firmly on his back foot and pushing back against the offense, and walking backward in time Geralt to quickly deflect multiple hits. Geralt upped the amount of strength he used with each hit, Jaskier soon losing the ability to stand his ground as often. He was being pushed back helplessly, stumbling on a step here and there, and allowing Geralt to smack him once on the calf. Geralt made intense, unbreaking eye contact with Jaskier as they fought to test his sense of prediction. Jaskier was pink in the face, biting his bottom lip and furrowing his brows. Geralt was stony-faced and exuding half his power. 

When Jaskier’s back hit a tree with a thud, he let out a gasp and dropped his sword. Geralt put one hand on the trunk behind Jaskier’s head, and the point of his sword under his chin. Jaskier trembled gently as he struggled to catch his breath.

“You’re to stay on your horse, and leave at the first sign of trouble,” Geralt grunted.

“So I can come tomorrow?”

“First sign of trouble - got it? You need more training.”

Jaskier swallowed, “got it.”

Geralt took the sword down and let it rest against his side, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly as he examined Jaskier close up. The boy was blushing deeply, his pupils blown and his lips parted slightly as he took quick breaths. Geralt sniffed and caught a whiff of a familiar scent, though wasn’t sure if he was smelling things right. He leaned his head down and put his face close into Jaskier’s neck, unworried by the concept of personal space. Jaskier sucked in a harsh breath and didn’t exhale, and Geralt breathed in Jaskier’s scent deeply. 

Arousal?

Geralt stepped back quickly from Jaskier, brushing himself off and clearing his throat. Jaskier exhaled shakily and stood up straight.

“Did you just...smell me?”

“Just erm, seeing if you smelled of fear,” Geralt made an excuse to save them both embarrassment, “beasts can smell it on you, gives them an advantage in combat.”

“And did I? Smell of fear?”

“No, you didn’t smell at all.”

There was a pause.

“At all? I applied a dash of lavender oil to my wrists and neck before we left. That crook herbalist must’ve pulled a fast one on me, selling me a shoddy product.”

“Right,” Geralt awkwardly departed to mount Roach, Jaskier followed along behind him, concernedly sniffing his own wrists and pouting. 

The two rode back to the city in silence, Geralt deep in thought. Why had Jaskier reeked of arousal, pinned up against that tree with a sword at his throat? Did he desire men? More specifically, did he desire Geralt? 

Geralt was unphased by the former, but concerned by the prospect of the latter. He himself had no desire to lie with Jaskier; had not thought of him, or any man for that matter, in such a way before. But he figured it would remain a non-issue if Jaskier never made a move onto Geralt, and if he did, Geralt could let him down gently. 

Geralt had dealt with being on the receiving end of unrequited feelings before, and could manage it again. Jaskier acted perfectly normal around him, like a good friend, and perhaps the young man was happy to continue their friendship and keep his boyish arousal to himself. Geralt was fine with this arrangement. Jaskier was entitled to his sexual feelings, especially as a newly bloomed adult, and Geralt would not bring it up and embarrass him.

“Thank you for tonight, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered as they walked back to their respective rooms, “I’ll get better, promise.”

“We’ll see,” Geralt replied, “goodnight, Jaskier. We will ride at sundown tomorrow for my hunt.”

“Can’t wait,” Jaskier smiled gently, and disappeared into his room. Geralt retired to his own chambers next door.

He struggled to sleep, curiosity about Jaskier’s personal life and feelings occupying his thoughts. Did Jaskier’s family know he desired men? Did he desire ladies as well? Was Jaskier a virgin?

Geralt’s thoughts were interrupted by the faint, yet undeniable scent from earlier drifting through his room. He quieted his breathing and attuned his hearing. Soft moans carried over through the adjacent wall, and Geralt’s eyes widened. This was none of his business. He rolled over onto his side, pulling the blankets up high over him, and focused himself entirely on thoughts of tomorrow’s hunt. 

Sword oils, potions, stealth opportunities, fighting strategy - Geralt busied his mind as best he could.

But oh, Gods, one particularly loud whimper stole all of Geralt’s attention. After that, silence.

Geralt closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and exhaled with a deep sigh. 

This is fine.

He fell asleep eventually.

~

The next day Geralt went for a meditative walk around the city, using his time in solitude to centre himself and his thoughts for complete focus during the night’s hunt to follow. He strolled seaside, letting the sounds of waves crashing against dock piles, ringing ship bells, and yelling fishermen provide a dynamic soundtrack to his thoughts. He knew that tonight he would aim to slay the wild beasts traversing the general field area of the Estate - being wolves, wild dogs, possibly boars or bears. Cutting down these enemies would leave an undisturbed path to the cave and distant harpy nest. Furthermore in support of the plan, it would be the most sensible way, given the circumstances, to introduce Jaskier to hunt and battle. 

Bringing Jaskier was a witless idea, Geralt of this was sure. But he was a man of the wild, of lawless lands and of freedom. And he would prefer it any day to the constraints of nobility. He felt that his ability to show Jaskier real living was inherently now his responsibility. When else, and from who else, was Jaskier to have this opportunity? 

Geralt had his armour and weaponry mended in the city centre, and purchased the ingredients necessary for several potions and a sword oil from a charming herbalist on the edge of town. He needed to get back to the Pankratz residence as soon as possible to have them brewed before sundown. 

Upon his return to the elegant residence, he saw Jaskier in the courtyard space out front, hitting a crude straw-stuffed sack target with his wooden sword. His shoulders and back were stronger than the night before, however his wrists flayed about delicately, swinging the sword like a wand.

Jaskier hadn’t noticed Geralt’s arrival, too focused on mutilating his burlap opponent. Geralt crept up behind him, and stood there observantly until the young man took a few steps back and bumped right into his chest.

“Oh!” Jaskier let out in surprise, quickly whirring around. He completely lost awareness of the sword in his hand in his shock, and Geralt caught the blunt faux-blade in one hand before it thunked into the side of his head. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow down at the bard.

“Fuck, sorry,” Jaskier looked up at Geralt, taking a step back when he realised they were uncomfortably close, “was I doing alright?”

“Your posture and form are looking stronger,” Geralt held Jaskier by his narrow shoulders, using his grip to turn the man back around to face his target. Geralt then crowded up into Jaskier’s space from behind, and let his hands slip down to encircle the smaller man’s wrists. He heard Jaskier’s breath hitch in his throat, and felt him stiffen against his chest. His fingers met easily, and then some, around Jaskier’s thin wrists, and Geralt put in a conscious effort to make sure his touch was light - it was all too easy for him to do damage in this situation.

“But your wrists are too careless,” he said gently, close to Jaskier’s ear, blushed a bright shade of pink, “you are twirling your sword, instead of striking with it”.

Jaskier obediently strengthened his hold on the sword, tensing his muscles underneath Geralt’s guiding hands. His knuckles went white in the overly tight grip he now had on his sword’s hilt. Geralt carefully moves his hands down to cover Jaskier’s, dwarfing them in size. 

“But you can’t go stiff as a board, rigidity limits your speed and finesse,” Jaskier’s hilt handling remained tight, and Geralt pondered how to ease the man’s tension. Gently, he let his thumbs rub over the back of Jaskier’s smaller hands, a soothing caresse to calm his nerves. Geralt presumed Jaskier’s nervousness had to do with the physical attraction he felt towards him, since he currently reeked of arousal.

Jaskier let out a quiet gasp and almost dropped the sword entirely, but regathered composure hastily. His hands trembled lightly under Geralt’s, but he found a more appropriate grip strength under the older man’s guidance.

“Not too flimsy, not too stiff. So simple,” the bard managed a sarcastic quip in his shaky state, attempting to remain composed and nonchalant. Geralt allowed Jaskier to believe that his performance was convincing, not offering any sign that he was aware of the bard’s small crush.

Geralt decided to stop torturing the poor boy and took a step back and to the side, motioning for Jaskier to resume battle with the dummy, and apply his new knowledge. Jaskier did so adequately, landing multiple strong strikes with a much improved form.

“And what is going on out here?” Helena’s melodic voice rang through the opening front door, she stood on the doorstep watching her son sweat and exert with curiosity.

“Geralt is teaching me some basic sword work for self defense, for when I am older and travelling between kingdoms,” Jaskier lied quickly, not wanting to give his mother a heart attack with the truth that he would be putting himself in mortal danger in a matter of hours. It wasn’t fully a lie though, these skills could be used in self defense in Jaskier’s future everyday life.

“I thought it vital for your son to know how to protect himself in dire circumstances,” Geralt picked up the story and ran with it, “while he may have guards to protect him, a last line of defense is always a smart idea, my Lady.”

“You’re right, Geralt, what a good idea,” she let her expression of suspicion melt into content, “it’s strange, but nice, to see my little artist wield such a weapon. But I’m afraid your lesson is over for now, lunch is served,” she turned promptly on her heel and disappeared back inside.

Jaskier dropped his wooden sword without a second thought, breathing heavily from his active one-sided battle, “thanks for the backup”.

“No need to thank me. My ass is on the line too if the truth comes out”.

“True. Thanks anyway, though. I cannot wait for tonight,” Jaskier’s eyes lit up with boyish delight at the thought of the coming night, and Geralt felt everything the bard was feeling as he looked at him. A perfect storm of excitement, curiosity, and pure elation emanated from the younger man, and Geralt felt a small smile grace his lips as he vicariously experienced the strong emotions; ones he had not known for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

“Is this really necessary?” Jaskier whined childishly.

The two men stood in Geralt’s chambers long after supper and bedtime had passed, readying themselves for the hunt. Jaskier’s frame was currently dwarfed by a spare set of brown and black leather armour from Geralt’s wardrobe. He held his arms outwards awkwardly, face crumpled up in an embarrassed grimace.

“It’s for your own safety.”

Jaskier huffed but gave in, filling his saddlebag with medical supplies - healing salves, numbing potions, and relaxing herbs. Geralt slid his swords into their sheaths on his back, and packed up his own array of Witcher potions and oils. He took a simple steel sword out from a case under his bed, and a spare back sheath, and held them out to Jaskier.

A smile wiped away Jaskier’s moody frown, and he took the weapon and sheath eagerly.

“Thanks,” he slipped the sword into its sheath, “I feel so...intimidating.”

Geralt looked Jaskier up and down, observing his skinny body in a large clunky set of hand-me-down armour, and the cheesy grin he had on his blushing young face.

“Hmm,” he kept his opinions to himself and left for the door, expecting Jaskier to follow; which he did, with a protest on his lips.

“Hey! What’s that hmm supposed to mean, hmm? I could take you in a sword battle right now! You’ve made the mistake of training me into a rather threatening opponent, dare I say.”

Geralt knew Jaskier was full of shit, half offended and half teasing, but decided to call his bluff anyway. He spun around, pushed Jaskier with a hand to his chest up against the nearest wall, and let his hand quickly grab him by the throat. Jaskier went stiff as a pencil, arms rigid down by his sides, his face once again wrinkling up into a grimace. Was he actually scared?

Gaskier inhaled through his nose, noted the thick, familiar stench, and quickly dropped his hand.

No, definitely not scared.

Jaskier was a tricky little thing, becoming more intriguing by the second with the discoveries Geralt kept making about him. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Geralt held a finger up to him, letting the smallest of smiles grace his lips to put Jaskier at relative ease. Jaskier nodded and cleared his throat.

“Right. I’ll try.”

~

The two rode silently on their respective horses, passing through the silent town, everyone gone to bed barr the spattering of city guards. Jaskier began trailing behind once they’d left the safety of the city walls, passing through farming fields and towards the forest. Geralt found himself having to repeatedly slow Roach down to let him catch up, and by the fifth time, he became irate.

“Alright, stop,” he slowed Roach to a standstill and let Jaskier pull up beside him. Jaskier looked down sheepishly, seeming much less excited than he had before, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! What? I’m good!” Jaskier’s pitch was high as the sky, his eyes wide and frightened. Geralt sighed.

“If you’re scared, I can take you back home.”

Jaskier took a few deep breaths, steadying himself. He sat up straight and nodded once, with finality. 

“No, I’m good. Keep going.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow but listened, directing Roach forward, but at a more gentle pace this time. A few minutes later Jaskier broke the silence.

“I’m a bit nervous, is all. But I can’t imagine that’s out of the ordinary, right?”

“It’s normal. I was nervous the first time I went out into the wild, just me with a sword on my back, against whatever ugly shit lurked in the shadows.”

Jaskier scoffed, “you? Nervous? Can’t imagine it Geralt, sorry.”

“But I was. And I was fine, Jaskier. When I faced my first enemy, a primal energy took over me, and I felt like there was no man or beast stronger, or more fearless than I was.”

“Oh, you mean adrenaline.”

Geralt snapped out of his daydream of his first great battle, “a-what?”

“Adrenaline. That energy that overtakes you when you’re in an emergency, and you just act on pure intelligent impulse, free of the constraints of your strength and fear. Learned about it at University.”

Geralt had spent his life thinking that the mystical energy of strength which overtook him in battle had been special to him, and deflated at the scientific explanation.

“Hmm. Anyway, you will be fine, Jaskier.”

“Yeah, I know. I know that you’ll keep me safe,” Jaskier said softly, “right?”

Geralt wouldn’t dare let anything touch Jaskier. The sword he had given the bard was the very last line of defense, and he would put all the florens in Nilfgaard on Jaskier never needing to swing it in battle for as long as he lives.

“Of course.” 

As they approached the locale of their night’s hunt, Geralt took the lead with Roach, keeping as quiet as possible. Geralt had discussed his plan with Jaskier mere hours ago. He was to lure out the wolves in the woods, and hopefully defeat the pack. Any bears or wild dogs who were disturbed would also be taken care of. The aim of tonight was to clear out a path to the Harpy nest. Depending on how much time they had left until breakfast when Geralt was done with the beasts, they would have a quick peek in the cave to understand its size and environment. Jaskier was to keep his distance at all times, and only speak when spoken to to reduce distraction. If Geralt were to fall, Jaskier was instructed to leave him. If any enemy made contact with Jaskier, he was instructed to leave in this situation, too. Jaskier expressed that he was happy to watch from a safe point, and experience the thrill of the wild secondhand. He was excited about the artistic material which could come from the night’s events. 

“Stay here,” Geralt dismounted Roach and Jaskier stayed put, around fifty metres from the edge of the dark woods. Geralt downed a vial of Swallow, followed by Tawny Owl, grunting as he felt the potions’ effects spread through his body. 

He looks back at Jaskier, and sees him standing next to his horse, fishing through her saddlebags for his quill, ink, and leather bound journal. Once he has gathered his supplies, he plops down cross legged in the grass, and looks up at Geralt like a schoolboy.

“Alright, I’m ready for the inspiration to hit-” his sentence fell short as he looked up. Geralt immediately looked over his shoulder with concern, afraid that there was a bear standing on its hind legs behind him. But there was nothing, and he looked back to Jaskier with a furrow in his brows.

“What?”

“Your face, Geralt. And...and your eyes. Are you alright?” Geralt remembered dumbly at that moment that the effects potions had on his appearance were not as normal to everyone else as they were to himself.

“Oh, right. The potions affect my eyes and skin, but I’m fine. Really.”

“Oh, okay,” Jaskier exhaled in relief, “thought you’d gone demon mode, my life starting flashing before my eyes.”

Geralt couldn’t help but laugh softly, “sorry.”

“Looks kinda cool now that I know you’re not gonna kill me. Very intimidating,” Jaskier smirked. His voice was playful, but once again his scent told a different story. The frequency of Jaskier’s bouts of arousal was beginning to concern Geralt, as he could sense the bard slowly becoming more and more infatuated, for whatever reason. Additionally, he was concerned by the events which sparked his arousal - namely the choking, and Geralt’s current intimidating appearance. 

Jaskier was going to get hurt one day if he indulged his more...intense interests with the wrong person. Geralt again wondered if Jaskier had indulged in any sexual activity before, considering he lived an incredibly sheltered life. As soon as Geralt entertained the question in his mind, he was intensely curious to know the answer. He took note to ask at a more appropriate time. Maybe he could mentor Jaskier through the trials and tribulations of intimate endeavours, introduce him to a world that he himself couldn’t live without. Many men in towns large and small had approached Geralt in taverns, brothel lounges, and even the streets, to timidly ask for advice on navigating women, and their own sexual prowess. Geralt caught female attention often, with his strong frame, rugged looks, and air of mystique - some of this, he found, could be taught. He perhaps could impart wisdom to the young man, and break him out of his shell, so to speak - and also move his attentions off of Geralt, and onto a wider population filled with more appropriate suitors. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jaskier broke a pregnant and awkward pause, which Geralt’s deep thinking had accidentally caused. Geralt refocused his vision and blurted out.

“Are you a virgin?”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

Geralt should’ve tried harder to hold that impulse in, but he had to run with it now. He persisted as if this were a normal time to be having this conversation.

“Are you a virgin? Have you...laid with anyone?”

Jaskier blushed a beet red, visible clearly even in the darkness of the forest. He looked down at his crossed legs and picked at the grass nervously. He mumbled something unintelligible, and Geralt knelt down and braced himself on one knee to hear more clearly. 

“What was that?”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispered, “don’t know why it’s relevant.”

“Yes you’ve laid with someone...or yes you’re a virgin?”

“Yes, I’m a virgin!” Jaskier looked up and confessed, embarrassed and affronted, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, and frankly, I don’t even know why you’re asking!”

Geralt immediately felt guilt rush through him, silently cursing his lack of tact and social intelligence. Jaskier brought his knees to his chest and made himself as small as possible, resting his chin on his knees and blowing a rogue hair up out of the way of his eyes. Geralt grunted as he dropped down to sit next to Jaskier. 

“Sorry. Just curiosity. Forgive my lack of subtlety,” Geralt placed a hand gently on Jaskier’s upper back, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I was thinking that if you were, you know, a virgin - then I could help.”

Jaskier tensed up under Geralt’s hand, trying to sputter out a coherent sentence. Oh shit, he’s misinterpreting what I mean by ‘help’. Geralt continued speaking to piece together a recovery.

“I could help you learn how to talk to people you’re interested in, build up your charm and finesse,” Geralt felt Jaskier deflate with a deep exhale. 

“Right. Yeah. Maybe,” Jaskier said weakly, “I’ll think about it.”

The two of them sat in an uncomfortable state of silence for a few excruciatingly long seconds, before Geralt made to stand up. He tied back his hair into a simple ponytail for practicality, and drew his silver sword to advance forward.

“Stay there, stay quiet,” Geralt said down to Jaskier, “can’t have you dying without experiencing the pleasures of the flesh.”

The joke half-landed, the bard’s shoulders shaking gently with a weak laugh. 

“Fuck off. Good luck, Geralt, knock ‘em dead.”

~

Geralt stood at the edge of where the forest clearing became a dark and enigmatic maze of towering trees and overgrown bushes. He stood low and swung his sword through the fallen leaves around his feet, while making obnoxious clicking sounds with his tongue to attract the beasts of the wood. He took a step back and readied himself for combat when his senses picked up the scent of a rowdy wolf pack, the sounds of their growls and snarls soon gracing his ears as they got progressively closer. 

Three large wolves pounced out of the shadows in a startling attack, leaping at Geralt with claws extended and teeth exposed. Geralt swung his sword over his head and down onto one of the beasts with a sickening crunch, while making use of Aard to knock the other two enemies away and onto their backs. He made quick work of one of the knocked down wolves, and used his bare hand to hold back his pack mate, who made to jump on his back. In a flurry of swings and a few choice defensive rolls, Geralt defeated the three wolves, as well as two others who came to the aid of their fallen pack. Geralt suffered from shallow scratches over his shoulders, as well as a bite mark on his left hand from physically holding back a wolf. The wolves suffered a whole lot more. 

In a moment of brief peace, Geralt wiped his sword clean on the forearm of his armour, and looked back to Jaskier. The young man sat still with wide eyes, his quill and paper left untouched. It was not a look of fear, but one of incredulous shock. One of his hands gripped the leg of the horse beside him, the other carried a fistful of grass that he had most likely ripped out of the ground trying to brace himself. 

“Are you alright?” Geralt called back to him, watching with furrowed brows as the bard opened and closed his mouth a couple times, like a sad little fish.

“Yeah!” His voice was but a squeak, “totally fine! That was nothing out of the ordinary at all!”

“You can always go home.”

“No way, I am doing this for the sake of my art!”

Geralt’s eyes drifted down to the abandoned writing supplies, which Jaskier scrambled to pick up indignantly. Geralt chuckled and turned back to the woods.

He repeated his process of attracting the enemy, expecting a couple more wolves, maybe some wild dogs or a bear. But his leaf shaking and tongue clicking were in vain, as there was not a peep from the woods. Geralt wouldn’t be satisfied leaving his first night of the hunt having only slain five measly wolves. He wanted the woods definitively cleared. He started making his way slowly to the entrance of the woods, sword up in his right hand and his left hand extended and ready to cast any needed spells.

“Where are you going?!” He heard a faint hiss from behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see Jaskier looking sufficiently alarmed about being left behind.

“Stay there, I won’t be long.”

Jaskier crossed his arms in a huff but obediently stayed put, intelligently valuing his safety over the pursuit of art. Geralt turned back to the matter at hand and walked gingerly into the mess of spiky bushes and overgrown tree roots. Almost immediately, Geralt was smacked in the side by a hulking bear, who bellowed angrily at him. Geralt fell to the ground, clutching the side of his chest with a groan. He was up again as quick as he had been knocked down, casting a shielding spell and lunging at the bear’s exposed chest with his sword. In a swift movement, he rolled forward to stand behind the groaning bear. He leapt up, sword held above his head with both hands, and drove the blade into the beast’s back. The weight of his body falling to the ground dragged the sword through the bear’s thick skin, it’s blood spilling endlessly. The bear stumbled about for a few seconds before falling onto his front with a great thud. Geralt planted his boot on the fallen bear’s back and pulled his sword free. He stood back and wiped the blood off of his face, grimacing down at the mess all over his front. 

“Watch out!” 

Why is Jaskier here? Geralt had no time to wonder as two small wild dogs sprinted towards him and bit at his legs. Geralt kicked one of the dogs off with a grunt and grabbed the other by the nape of its neck, holding it high and driving his sword into its belly before throwing it aside. The other dog scrambled away, whining softly. Another small whimper came from the injured dog lying at Geralt’s feet. Geralt knelt down next to it and sighed. He closed his eyes and snapped the beast’s neck in a quick and effortless motion.

The Witcher sat there on his knees for a few meditative minutes. His legs were bitten and covered in his own blood, the wounds however were quickly healing. His armour and hair were covered in blood and entrails, and his already-scarred back and shoulders were no doubt riddled with fresh scratches under where his leather armour had been torn apart. No other beasts came for him, so he wiped his sword down before sheathing it on his back.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when we felt a hand on his shoulder, turning quickly to punch the new enemy before realising it was Jaskier kneeling down behind him. Jaskier startled slightly too, his hands raising up into a surrender pose with a sheepish little smile. His eyes softened with concern, and he lowered his hand gently back to rest over Geralt’s ripped armour and tender skin. His fingertips ghosted over the wounds that were miraculously healing by the minute. 

Geralt hummed and his eyes slipped closed, his chin dipped towards his chest as he focused on regaining his breath. In, out. In, out. The night winds picked up, leaves whirling and spinning around the two men. Jaskier pressed in closer, his chest to Geralt’s back, trying to escape the biting chill of the air. Geralt let out a particularly shaky exhale as he felt Jaskier rest his cheek to the older man’s shoulder, slipping into a comfortable state. Too comfortable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Geralt muttered. 

“I know,” Jaskier replied, voice muffled by his face being squished up against Geralt’s back, “but c’mon, that was too incredible to miss.”

Geralt wondered how Jaskier would react to laying his eyes on vicious necrophages if he considered common woodland beasts ‘incredible’. 

“Incredible, huh?”

“Truly awe inspiring, Geralt. I will go home and write tirelessly. I can feel a song spinning itself into existence in my mind as we speak.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and huffed, but Jaskier persisted, softly singing a half-baked tune.

“O’ the Witcher stormed into the woods,  
Battled bears, wild dogs and the wolves”

“Shut it.”

“The beasts there were slaughtered,  
Found helpless and cornered,  
By the work of a merciless swordsman.”

“Well that’s just a limerick.”

Jaskier giggled, extracting himself from Geralt and rising to his feet, offering out his hand to help the Witcher up.

“Very good, Geralt!” Geralt rolled his eyes and got himself up, unassisted, “Now I’m freezing, and you stink. Are we going home now?”

“Get to your horse,” Geralt grunted, offended by the comment on his stench. He couldn’t smell anything. 

~

The two men retired their horses to the stables, Jaskier humming, whistling, and prancing about with a goofy smile on his face. Geralt, contrarily, was covered in entrails and ready to collapse into bed.

“Thanks for tonight, it was incredible,” Jaskier said as the two walked through the silent house, making for their bedrooms, “can I come again tomorrow night?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not at all, you couldn’t keep me here if you tried.”

Geralt reached his door and cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m off to sleep,” he said, “I think I’ll be out as soon as I hit the pillow. Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“Surely you’re to have a bath before you get into bed,” Jaskier protested with concern, “no offense, but you smell so bad, I think your stench would waft through the wall and keep me awake all night.”

Geralt knew all about stenches coming through the wall and keeping him awake. 

“I’ll bathe in the morning.”

Jaskier pushed past Geralt and opened his door, barging into his chambers and towards the bath. It was already full of water as they were refilled by the house staff each day. Jaskier began taking oils off of the wall shelf and pouring small amounts into the water like a witch over her brew. 

“You will bathe now, how selfish of you to leave your stinking sheets to the house staff! They don’t deserve to spend tomorrow morning at the river pounding bear entrails out of your blankets.”

Geralt trudged into his room in defeat, casting a weak Igni towards the bathwater to heat it up to a comfortable temperature. He stood by the bath and began to strip off his dirty armour and undergarments. Geralt had no issue with immodesty or shame, and disrobed entirely, before stepping into the bath and sinking down.

“Okay,” Jaskier broke the silence, half speaking to Geralt and half addressing himself. Geralt could tell by the usual signs that Jaskier was mildly overwhelmed by the sight of Geralt.

Geralt’s knees were up and revealed above the surface of the water, unable to spread out in the undersized tub. He rested his elbows back against the bath’s rim and tipped his head back to relax. It wasn’t long before he felt a gentle hand at the crown of his head, pushing gingerly at it.

“Tip your head down and forward, your hair is matted with blood,” Jaskier was sat on a stool behind him, a jug full of water in hand.   
Geralt obediently tipped his head down toward the water. Jaskier removed his hair tie and let his silver locks free, spreading over the back of his neck and towards his shoulders. With careful movements, Jaskier tipped the jug of water over Geralt’s hair, his free hand combing through the dirty strands and cleaning them of the blood of wild beasts.

Gods, did it feel good to have his hair stroked this way. The touch was caring and thorough. Jaskier repeated the process, pouring water and combing. His hand was lathered with a sweet smelling hair oil, the scent soothing and relaxing Geralt. He felt he could fall asleep under Jaskier’s touch, always having a weak spot for having his hair played with. On the third tip of the jug, Jaskier’s fingers got caught in a knot on their way from the roots of Geralt’s hair to its ends. The sharp tug pulled a deep groan from Geralt, which he tried to stop by gritting his teeth. 

“Shit, sorry Geralt,” Jaskier stroked over the pulled knot to soothe the pain, “you alright?”

Geralt was more than alright, it seemed. Having his hair pulled had caused a stir in his cock, becoming half hard between his thighs, thankfully obscured by the darkness of the water. Geralt was shocked by his body’s response, shocked by how good having his hair pulled had felt. 

“Hmm. All good,” He choked out, “keep going.”

Jaskier made quick work of cleaning Geralt’s hair, finishing the job in a couple minutes with finesse. He gently guided Geralt’s head back to where it had rested on the rim of the tub. Though his eyes were closed, he could feel Jaskier’s gaze burning into him, staring at his exposed chest. He was covered in old, pink faded scars, which he knew concerned almost all who laid eyes upon them.

Jaskier reached over Geralt’s shoulders from his perch behind him and ran his palms down his chest. The bard’s hands were smooth and welcome on his rough skin, lathering soap over his pectorals, collarbones and shoulders. 

“So many scars,” Jaskier breathed, “they don’t phase you though, do they?”

“No, they’re much more distressing to others than myself.”

“They don’t distress me. They tell fascinating stories,” Jaskier traced a finger along an old wound which stretched from his right collarbone towards his armpit, “and they make you look very rugged.”

Geralt paused at the daring comment, unsure how to take it.

“You like rugged?”

Jaskier paused, too.  
“I, um,” Jaskier stumbled, “Women do, right? Figured you would want to hear that you’ve got what they want. I’m sure you already knew that though, you don’t need to hear it from the virgin. Maybe I’m just jealous! I’m not rugged at all, girls don’t want my skinny little body,” he was rambling.

Geralt cut him off with a low laugh, he opened his eyes to look up at Jaskier, who was leaning over him.

“Relax and bathe me, Jaskier,” he teased before shutting his eyes again.

“Right.”

Jaskier slowly went back to massaging oil and soap into Geralt’s rough and dirty skin. He pushed Geralt up and forward again to clean his back. He dug his thumbs into the dips between Geralt’s shoulder blades, working to relax the tense muscles underneath the scarred skin. The insistent press of his thumbs and fingertips was doing wonders for Geralt’s body. He let out another soft moan, not trying to stifle it this time. He figured it was kind to let Jaskier know he was doing good work. 

He felt his soft cock stir again, excited at any sensual touch. He had not relieved himself with his hand in a few days, and his urges were strong. His forearms rested on his knees, and his right arm twitched with the impulse to reach down and touch himself. He could so easily. Obscured by the water, he could let the pleasure of Jaskier’s massage translate into the sweetest satisfaction for him. But that would be entirely inappropriate. He tried to will his growing erection away again, but the smell of arousal began dripping off of Jaskier, and it near-tortured Geralt. The energy in the room was thick with unspoken tension, Jaskier’s hands trailing lower to massage and clean around Geralt’s trim waist. 

“Did you want me to do your front and legs for you?” Jaskier asked, and Geralt couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than exposing his predicament to the poor unknowing man.

“I can take it from here. Thank you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier dried his hands on his pants and stood up from his stool. Geralt sat back and looked up and over his shoulder at the bard. His face was blushed a sweet rosy shade, his pupils blown wide. He looked small, his hands clasped in front of his body, one of his feet turning inward in a nervous stance. Geralt didn’t know what came over him, probably his dazed and nonsensical state of arousal, but he felt an urge to ravish the boy. That didn’t make any sense whatsoever, and he needed to get Jaskier out of the room immediately so he could find his logical self again.

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

As soon as the door shut behind the bard, Geralt’s hand dove under the water and grasped at his achingly hard cock. He shuddered with relief and began stroking quickly, forgoing subtlety and expertise. To get himself off in as little time as possible, to regain rational thought and go to sleep, he conjured up his usual fantasies. A soft, beautiful woman laid out underneath him, open and begging, her hands small and needy over his back and shoulders. The hands of the faceless woman slowly morphed into a familiar set of soft hands as Geralt got lost in his arousal, thumbing his tip and throwing his head back with a particularly loud moan of pleasure. He was too far gone to slow down or stop as he thought back to Jaskier’s hands in his hair, stroking and pulling. Jaskier’s hands over his chest, massaging his back, gently gripping his waist. He saw Jaskier laid out underneath him, open and begging, and trembled all over with his mouth open in a silent gasp as he stroked furiously through his orgasm. 

He collapsed back in the tub and gasped for breath. What the fuck was that all about?

Geralt haphazardly rubbed soap over his stomach legs and crotch before heaving out of the soiled bathwater. He stumbled on shaky legs over to the bed and promptly collapsed onto it. Coming out of his post-orgasm haze, he pondered his feelings. Was he attracted to Jaskier? He hadn’t been romantically or sexually attracted to a man before. And before tonight, he hadn’t found anything particularly alluring about the bard. But something about the way he had taken care of Geralt, no fear or apprehension, no judgement, and made him at ease, was irresistible. He wanted to feel that way again. He would explore his connection to Jaskier in the coming days, decide if his emotions perhaps ran deeper than friendship or if he was simply starved of female attention. 

He could have cried when he heard a familiar muffled high pitched moan from the next bedroom over. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! Enjoy :)

Geralt awoke to a repetitive knocking at his chamber door. He groaned and sat up, rubbing at his sensitive eyes, stinging from the bright sunlight streaming through his window. He had fallen asleep still naked, atop his bed covers, his curtains left undrawn; thankfully, he had a charming and private ocean view. The knocking continued, and a familiar voice came muffled from the other side of the thick oak door.

“Your breakfast is served, Sir Geralt!” Florence’s voice was filled with excessive cheer for the morning time. Geralt did not get along well with mornings, especially when they involved removing himself from a comfortable bed. When he slept on bedrolls on the rough forest floor? Sure, the mornings were easier to embrace, as embarking on a long trek through the wilderness was a more attractive idea than staying another second lying on uneven terrain.

Geralt wrapped a maroon wool blanket around his waist and padded to the door tiredly, opening the door a crack to make eye contact with Florence.

“Thank you for calling me to my meal, Florence,” he said groggily, his voice gruff and lazy.

“Of course,” she smiled, “if you wouldn’t mind, when you get a free moment, could you do me a favour?”

“What do you need?”

“I have to hurry back to the dining room to wait on Lady Pankratz, and Jaskier is still not awake. I tried knocking on his door and calling out, but I’m afraid my touch and voice are too gentle to disturb his rest.”

Geralt remembered when he was Jaskier’s age - at that point, mornings were not just an annoyance, but his greatest enemy. The man had also had a very late night. He accepted Florence’s request and she scurried off with a sweet ‘thank you’.

Geralt opted to wear his hair down, as it was soft and clean from his bath. He paired his leather pants with a black loose front laced shirt, the light fabric welcome on his battle-roughened skin. He examined himself in the mirror for a short moment, noting how tired he appeared. He was well in need of a good hearty breakfast, and it was beckoning him from the dining table. He had to rip Jaskier out of his bed first before he could tuck in, and he felt immediately uncomfortable with having to face the bard after last night. He was sexually confused, and did not want to put Jaskier at the receiving end of his inevitable awkwardness. Alas, he lived with the young man, was intending to go on multiple more night trips with him, and needed to spend more time with him in order to sort out his feelings.

“Don’t be a pussy,” he glared at himself in the mirror and shook his head, promptly spinning on his heel and leaving his chambers.

Jaskier was one door down, an easy journey. Geralt figured the bard was probably already awake in his room, stirring grumpily in his bed covers, refusing to stand up. For good measure he banged his fist once, twice, three times on the door, the thudding echoing through the hallway and no doubt through Jaskier’s living space. No audible response came from him, though.

“Jaskier, get up,” Geralt groaned, “I know you’re awake”.

“No I’m not,” a quiet, muffled response came.

Geralt closed his eyes and heaved a great sigh of exasperation. It was too early to be playing these games. Florence had protocol not to barge into the private chambers of the family she served, but Geralt had been issued no such rule. He shoved the door wide open and heard a scandalised gasp. He looked right to the source of the noise and saw Jaskier scrambling to sit up back against his headboard, wrapped from his toes to his neck in thick velvet blankets. 

“You can’t just barge in here!”

Geralt rolled his eyes, walking over to the bed, prepared to physically yank Jaskier by his wrist out to the dining room. He extended his hand to make a grab for him, but Jaskier recoiled and shook his head.

“I’m not decent under here you pervert. Get out and let me get dressed.”

Geralt took a few steps back and turned to face the nearest wall, closing his eyes.

“If I leave you will go back to sleep, I know the play. Get dressed and tell me when you’re ‘decent’”.

Jaskier huffed but Geralt heard shuffling noises as Jaskier climbed out of his blanket cocoon and stood up from his bed. Footsteps moved behind him, over to the other side of the room. There was the sound of drawers opening, clothes shifting, and drawers closing. Minutes passed and Geralt began to wonder what the hell was taking so long. He voiced his confusion out loud.

“I’m not connecting with any of these outfits,” Jaskier huffed, Geralt heard a stamp of a boot on the floorboards, “none of them capture the mood of the day.”

Geralt stifled a laugh at Jaskier’s antics, unable to relate to his struggles in the slightest. He found the style predicament more endearing than annoying, though. Jaskier’s innocent ignorance was no fault of his own, and there was a silly charm to the way he naively weighed his priorities. Geralt hoped to show him the bigger picture and open him up to the greater issues in the world, but until then, he found free entertainment in Jaskier’s dotish plights. 

“What is the mood of the day?” he decided to play along, itching to turn around and see what ridiculous ensemble Jaskier was in.

“Eager, passionate, fervent. I have seen great, wild things for the first time in my life, and I feel inspired, and excited,” Jaskier recited his thoughts with an emotional clarity and openness that Geralt could only wish for, “I want an outfit that expresses my new energy, as it were.”

“Do you need help?”

Jaskier sighed, “yeah. Turn around.”

Geralt turned slowly and opened his eyes, his eyebrows immediately raised high. Jaskier donned high waisted, fiery red pants, with a pair of black walking boots poking out underneath the loose fit ankles. Strewn on the ground around him were rejected clothing picks, a mess of mistreated luxury fabrics. He had not settled on a shirt, his chest bare and surprisingly hairy. Odd, since he looked incapable of growing facial hair. Geralt’s eyes found a red leather jacket lying on the floor, the texture and cut of the material resembling a dragon’s scales from a distance. 

“What about the red jacket,” Geralt gestured to it with his hand. Jaskier followed his hand and scrunched his nose up at his pick.

“Red jacket and red pants? I’ll look like a right tomato.”

“You’ll look like a red dragon. A great beast of fiery passion. It’s a strong outfit, makes you look daring, as you were last night.”

Jaskier looked strangely impressed with Geralt’s stylistic choice and reasoning. Geralt tried not to take offense. The bard put the jacket on over a light blue top, to ‘healthily break up the colour’ he’d explain as he pulled the look together. He struck a couple of weak poses to show the outfit to Geralt, seeking an opinion.

“Hmm. Looks good,” Geralt told the truth, finding the outfit a cool change from the soft coloured, puffy sleeved numbers the bard had been wearing previously. He beckoned Jaskier to the dining room before he could decide he hated the jacket, so they could finally have their meals.

The two traipsed late into the dining hall side by side, Helena sitting before her empty plate with a judgemental glint in her eye.

“Jaskier, I am not impressed. You hold me up with your laziness, and you force our guest to have to wrangle you in. Count yourself lucky you’re getting a meal at the table this morning.”

Jaskier took the scorning without a comeback, but huffed under his breath about being an adult as he took his seat and thanked Florence as she placed his hot breakfast in front of him.

“Sorry about the inconvenience, Geralt. I’m sure Jaskier has apologised already for delaying your breakfast.”

“No need for him to, my Lady. We each played a part in our tardiness this morning.”

“See, my son? How selfless Sir Geralt is. You ought to learn a thing or two from him while he is here.”

Neither Geralt nor Jaskier took any joy in Helena’s harsh commentary. They stayed silent in the hopes that she stopped talking.

“Jaskier doesn’t really have a father figure around to model himself after. His Dad is always so busy and often abroad, you see. It would be nice to see you be that older, more experienced male influence over him while you’re here.” 

“I wouldn’t say I’m a father figure-”

“I really don’t see him as that-”

The two men broke their silence to dispute the uncomfortable father remarks, talking over each other to set the record straight as soon as possible. 

“Alright. Well anyway, I think it would be valuable for the two of you to stay close while Geralt completes his contract work. Geralt could teach you many practical and social skills atop the self defense classes he is already generously giving you.”

Jaskier was stuffing his face with scrambled eggs, averse to the entire discussion. Geralt couldn’t blame him.

“I will be sure to impart wisdom onto your son during our valuable time together,” Geralt assured politely, proceeding to tuck into his own meal.

~

Belly finally full of delicious eggs and fried tomato, Geralt took up a private audience with Helena in the main seating room to discuss his work. He informed her of the beasts he encountered in the woods, and that he had good reason to believe there were no more wild animals in that area. 

“Well that is fantastic, so there is only the nest and the cave to address now, yes?”

“Hopefully. Tonight I will go out again and get started on addressing the inhabitants of the cave.”

Helena shuddered, “you are very brave, going out to face all those terrifying monsters. I was attacked by a Noonwraith when I was a young girl.”

Geralt couldn’t imagine how Lady Pankratz had found herself in such a position, and how she got herself out of it.

“I rode like hell away from her, I sprinted on my horse for what seemed like hours, terrified to stop or look back. Eventually I had to, and I was okay. But I could not get her face out of my mind for many weeks. I am petrified of the idea that necrophages, or ghouls, could be lurking around my own home. I am so glad you are helping us.”

“Well you pay a pretty penny, Helena,” Geralt tried to lighten the mood with a weak joke. Helena’s face fell.

“I do hope you find us accommodating as people as well as a source of income.”

“No doubt. You, your son, and your staff have treated me well, thank you.”

Helena eased up and smiled, sitting back in her grand armchair and taking a sip of red wine. Geralt looked out a nearby window to the garden and caught sight of Jaskier sitting on a stone bench, his lute on his knee and a quill tucked behind his ear. His lips moved in silent song, his fingers stopping and starting on his instrument as he searched for the right melody. He was most likely composing a ballad about the night before, about Geralt. Geralt had never had a song written about him before, and he felt the urge to abandon his conversation with Helena and go eavesdrop. 

“Do not think your self defense lessons to my Jaskier will go unnoticed,” Helena smiled, breaking Geralt’s attention on Jaskier, “I will add some extra coin to your payment as gratitude.”

“Won’t be necessary, consider it my gratitude to you. Your son deserves to know how to fend for himself.”

“I admit, I have pampered the boy. Maybe my own experience with the Noonwraith has made me overprotect Jaskier to an extent. I feel guilty sometimes, but he seems happy, and content with his art.”

Geralt didn’t want to involve himself in family drama and share Jaskier’s true thoughts on his sheltered childhood and now young adulthood. He nodded along silently, his sight drifting out the window again to Jaskier, deep in concentration. Helena downed the last of her wine in a large gulp, rising to her feet and fixing her hair.

“Anywho! I’m satisfied by the progress of your work, I’ll let you have the rest of the day to yourself. I’ll see you for dinner,” and with that, she turned on her heel and left.

Geralt near leapt to his feet to get to the garden, navigating rooms upon rooms and long hallways to get to the back door. He opened it quietly and crept out, not wishing to disturb or frighten Jaskier by barging into his music writing session. Geralt stood leaning his side against the stone back wall of the house, and listened to Jaskier’s singing, which carried over on the breeze from where he sat on his bench just metres away.

It was a mess of unfinished lyrics. Poetry about brawling bears and the shine of a sword’s blade in the moonlight. Jaskier would play with ideas, sing a few words, and cut himself off with either a frustrated swear, or a satisfied ‘hmm’.

“‘With a strike to the head,  
The mighty wolf was left dead-’” 

Jaskier cut off his tune and furrowed his eyebrows, muttering to himself, “dead...red? Bed? Said? What else rhymes with-”

“Bled?” Geralt called out as he began walking over.

“Bled! Brilliant!” Jaskier smiled and began writing on his papers, before his head snapped to look at Geralt, “Shit, how long have you been listening?”

Geralt shrugged, “just for a bit.”

Jaskier shuffled over on the bench and tapped the spot beside him, beckoning Geralt to sit down, which he happily did. He went to pick up Jaskier’s papers out of curiosity, but Jaskier snatched them away and scowled.

“Careful, nosey. A man’s art is private.”

“But it’s about me.”

“You can hear it when it's finished.”

Geralt smirked, “I’ve already heard quite a bit.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, blushing high on his cheeks, plucking at his lute strings absentmindedly. He turned his head to look up at Geralt, his expression open and vulnerable.

“What did you think?”

“You make my work sound much more riveting and melodramatic than it is,” Geralt paused, “which I like”.

Jaskier tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, “you don’t think what you do is exciting?”

Of course Geralt knew that objectively, travelling far and wide fighting beasts and monsters was an exciting occupation. But after many decades, the work becomes routine, and even predictable. Each species of monster had its habits, its weaknesses, and its skills. They always put up a fight, but Geralt has prevailed one hundred percent of the time, which is a near unspeakably good track record for how long he has been in the profession. Or the lifestyle, he supposed. It was hard to separate his work and his personal life, since being a Witcher was in his looks, in his socialisation, in his blood. The job was inescapable, and Geralt resented it on many days.

“It is to you. For me the excitement was lost...a while ago,” he sighed, feeling immediately guilty for voicing his resentment. He lived a much better life than many others.

Jaskier set his lute down to the side and turned full bodied to Geralt. He pulled up his right leg and rested his ankle over his left knee. The bottom of his boot lightly brushed Geralt’s thigh, and the touch felt electric.

“Why do you still do it, then?”

“I have no choice. Being a Witcher is all I have. All I am. Could you see me being hired for farm work?”

“Well you have a great build for it,” Jaskier teased with a grin, he reached out and grabbed at Geralt’s bicep, his hand nowhere near fitting around it, “you could plow a field like nobody’s business!”

Geralt huffed and reached a hand up to cover Jaskier’s, the boy’s fingers tensing slightly around his bicep before immediately relaxing. They caught eyes, and Geralt was confused by how this boy could coax him so easily into sincerity. 

“Thank you, but a normal life isn’t going to happen for me, Jaskier,” Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hand before letting go and clasping his hands in his lap, “but having you out there with me last night, you were radiating enough excitement for the both of us.”

Jaskier looked away bashfully, and fidgeted with his soft fringe. Geralt was telling the truth. Jaskier watched on with a look of pure awe in his eyes which made Geralt feel that what he was doing had a semblance of importance. And for the bard to compose music and poetry about what Geralt had done? He hadn’t realised how badly he needed that boost to his self-worth.

“And soon enough people across the lands will feel the same excitement I do about your work, Geralt. My music will tell your stories, and people will want to listen.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m serious! You make a fantastic muse, Geralt. You could carry my entire career.”

“A muse, huh?” Geralt chuckled, “isn’t that position reserved for smart, beautiful women?”

“Nope!” Jaskier popped his ‘p’ childishly and stood up, arms spread dramatically, “you inspire me, Geralt of Rivia. And it would be my one great honour to watch you disembowel bears every night.”

Geralt could see Jaskier’s infatuation and affection, clear as day. He wished he didn’t have to speak, and could just sit on this bench and watch Jaskier wax poetic all day. His confidence, absurdity and creativity were charming. Geralt was charmed. No matter if he decided he felt romantically or platonically towards Jaskier, he knew one thing; he wanted to keep him around. 

“So you’re coming along again tonight?”

“You bet I am.”

Geralt stood up and placed a strong hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, a smirk on his lips and an idea on his mind.

“Then you have to come along for pre-hunt drinks,” Geralt was keen to feel the familiar warmth of good ale in his bloodstream, and shake off the emotional weight of this conversation and his thoughts, “after dinner, I’ll take you down to the docks.”

“O-okay,” Jaskier stuttered, probably never having been to a pub before, “For sure, of course. ...What do I wear?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and walked away, off to clean his weaponry and mend his armour, “See you at dinner, Jaskier!” he called over his shoulder as he went back into the house.

~

Geralt and Jaskier managed to convince Helena to allow them to go down to a dockside tavern without a guard escort, much to Jaskier’s delight. ‘Geralt serves as guard enough, I suppose’, was Helena’s final reasoning. With bellies full of a meaty dinner, and Jaskier in a new, top to toe black and grey ensemble, the two made their way to the front garden.

“Shall we saddle up?” Jaskier proposed, motioning with his head towards the stables.

“No, you can walk just fine,” Geralt retorted, wanting Jaskier to actually experience the city as anyone else would - on foot, unguarded. 

Jaskier was fine enough with the idea, probably just used to travelling on horseback, and knowing it would be beneficial to break the habit. He stayed close next to Geralt, who was making a beeline towards a small dockside tavern by the name of The Dusty Anchor. He didn’t frequent the place often, as it was rough around the edges and packed to the brim with burly seamen, but it would be an interesting experience for Jaskier to be sure.  
“Wanna have some fun, pretty boy?” A prostitute lingering outside her brothel called out alluringly to Jaskier, who went bright red at her proposition and crowded closer to Geralt.

“No I’m good thank you!” He replied with a nervous squeak in his voice. Geralt put his arm around the bard’s shoulders to escort him away without any drama, “Thanks for calling me pretty though!”

The lady giggled, flipping her long auburn hair back over her shoulder, “No problem, darling, I see you’re already taken,” she winked at the two men walking closely together.

Geralt dropped his arm and put it back down to his own side as he continued walking, Jaskier having no time to protest the prostitute’s assumption as they had already let too much distance open between them.

Geralt pushed open the door to The Dusty Anchor and the noise of the commotion inside the tavern spilled out. Jaskier stood behind Geralt and let him lead them inside. The two carefully sneaked past drunken sailors, yelling and waving their arms about carelessly. They caught a few confused or judgemental looks from the more sober tavern goers, but nobody raised a fuss. 

“Here, sit,” Geralt found an empty table for two in a far corner, and pulled out a seat for Jaskier, who took it quickly and pushed himself in, resting his forearms on the table and leaning in as if to hide himself away.

Geralt called out to a nearby barmaid to bring over two jugs of ale, and took a seat across from Jaskier. The bard looked nervous, his eyes scanning the bustling tavern, unsure of the safety of his surroundings. Any of these men or women could snap him like a twig if he looked at them the wrong way, but of course Geralt would not let that happen.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you, I’m here,” Geralt’s words seemed to put Jaskier at immediate ease, his shoulders dropping and a long exhale leaving his lips.

“You’re right,” his eyes stayed set on two arm wrestling fishermen, surrounded by a loud audience betting bags of coin between them, “this is a lot to take in, though.”

“Very different from home,” Geralt nodded, thanking the barmaid as she set down their drinks, “but a lot more fun once you’re a few drinks in.”

Jaskier watched as Geralt took a long swig of his ale, nearly depleting the entire jug in one go. He gulped and picked up his own ale, examining it with a curious eye, seeing how clean the jug was. Geralt rolled his eyes at his pedantic practice, and Jaskier poked his tongue out at the Witcher before taking a good sip of his drink. The ale had a tang to it that didn’t appear in the ones he drank at home, it tasted more cultured, less refined. He liked it. He continued drinking eagerly, and Geralt followed suit.

With Geralt four jugs in, and Jaskier breaking ground on his third, the two men felt much lighter. Geralt set down his jug with more force than intended, and looked around hopelessly for that lovely barmaid, who was coming up behind him with another full jug already. What an angel, he thought. An ale angel. And alegel. Geralt chuckled lowly to himself.

“This is great, Geralt,” Jaskier grinned, his face flushed and eyes sparkly, “we should do this more often.”

“Nothing like some overdrinking between friends, eh?” Geralt raised his jug in a ‘cheers’ motion before resuming chugging.

“What do we do?” Jaskier asked.

“What do you mean ‘what do we do’?”

“Like, what do you do when you’re drunk?” Jaskier whined impatiently, “what fun stuff can we do?”

Geralt raised his thumb and forefinger to his chin and stroked his stubble in thought, making Jaskier giggle between sips. He usually drank alone, slipped into a depressed drunken state because he had nobody to drink with, and stumbled into a brothel out of self-pity and desperation. Then in the morning a kind girl would rub his hair for a few minutes before pushing him out for another client. 

“Well that’s depressing,” Jaskier reached out across the table to put a comfortable hand on Geralt’s resting forearm.

“Hmm?”

“The sad drunkenness and prostitutes, doesn’t sound like much fun at all, Geralt,” Jaskier said, and Geralt’s muddled brain realised he had been speaking aloud instead of thinking. Oops.

“Heeeeyyy,” he moaned in mock-offense, “it’s a great time, you should try it.”

Jaskier took a long swig from his ale and motioned at the distant barmaid for another round, he looked down at the table and drummed his hands on it with a crude beat.

“Not my thing I don’t think,” he mumbled.

“What, prostitutes?”

Jaskier screwed his nose up, “just, uh, women in general?”  
Geralt really needed the barmaid to come through with that next round of ale. He could feel the drunkenness wear off immeasurably in only a few seconds. Still not sober, but coherent enough to recognise the weight of Jaskier’s words, and the attention they deserved. Geralt already knew Jaskier had it in his capacity to feel attraction to men - but this was his own confirmation of his sexuality, his own confession, and it was important.

“You like men?” Geralt asked quietly, dipping his head down to try and catch Jaskier’s eye, as he wouldn’t look up from the table.

“I think so,” Jaskier looked up at Geralt with his big blue eyes, sincere and vulnerable, “I’ve never told anyone.”

“Why tell me?”

“I’m not sure...probably the ale? Or that I trust you. Or a mix of both,” Jaskier rambled, “secret’s safe with you, right?”

“Of course,” Geralt offered a small comforting smile, which Jaskier returned. The two of them silently decided to leave their next round of drinks untouched, and opted for an order of water instead.

The two sat in a peaceful silence for a while as they sobered up, the yelling and laughing from the plastered tavern goers a distant, muffled soundtrack to their outing. As the drink wore off, the two became more relaxed, deflating into the chairs and dwelling in the mellow buzz that still lingered and refused to let go.

“Y’know,” Geralt spoke up, “there are male prostitutes, too.”

Jaskier laughed airily, leaning back in his chair and sighing.

“I know. I don’t think that’s my gig, though,” Jaskier’s boots knocked up against Geralt’s gently under the table, and Geralt interlocked their ankles without really thinking, “I like a bit more of a connection, I think. I’m more on the romantic side.”

Geralt remembered when he was more on the romantic side. A one-woman-at-a-time man, who was quick to infatuation and quick to be heartbroken. A few long decades ironed out that personality trait and smothered it with emotionless, transactional sex. 

“You? A romantic? I’m shocked,” Geralt teased, and Jaskier kicked his shin gently.

“Whatever,” he muttered, falling quiet for a few long moments, “so you don’t mind? That I’m-”

“Not at all.”  
Another pause.

“Have you...ever…?”

Geralt had never. Which was probably strange, considering how long he had been around, and how repetitive sex could become. But he had never felt an urge to seek out something different, had never met a man who could lure him away from his comfort. 

“No, never.”

“And you’ve been around for-”

“A while.”

Jaskier hummed in response, and offered no more. He smelled of sadness, it broke through the stench of alcohol and met Geralt’s nostrils across the ale-sticky table. Jaskier was truly hoping for a chance with the Witcher, and disappointed to lose it. Geralt realised he had been absentmindedly swinging his legs with Jaskier’s under the table and felt guilty. He had been teasing Jaskier with false hope, and it was nothing but cruel. 

He sipped his water and took in Jaskier with his eyes. His gentle frame draped over his seat, arms curled around his chest to keep himself warm in the cooling sea air. His features were soft, his eyes sleepy and his hair a feathery mess over his forehead. Geralt wanted to scoop him up and walk him home, troubled by the idea of the bard being cold, sleepy and uncomfortable.

Geralt realised he wasn’t lying to Jaskier about his feelings, but he was lying to himself. 

“We’re not going out to hunt tonight, obviously” Geralt murmured, “let's get you home.”

Jaskier nodded wordlessly and pushed himself up, a bit wobbly on his legs, like an endearing baby deer. Geralt grabbed him by his elbow and escorted the both of them out to the fresh, brisk night air of the city. Jaskier shivered, and Geralt took off his cloak to wrap it around the bard, who snuggled into it appreciatively. 

Geralt felt dread sink in as the two made the walk home. His time with Jaskier was temporary, maybe only two weeks worth of work left in his contract. And after that time was up, their paths were unlikely to recross. Geralt lived a life abroad, unable to settle for too long in his line of work. Jaskier had a sprawling Estate waiting for him, a life of luxury and nobility to fulfil in this great city. Gods, how would a love like theirs ever work? Jaskier would be expected to marry a woman of similar taste and class; Geralt could never be an option. 

Jaskier looked sweet next to him, trudging along, sniffling quietly from the chill of the air. It would be cruel to indulge him. To indulge himself. It was only a setup for a painful separation. Geralt momentarily cursed himself for accepting Helena’s contract, before quickly taking the curse back, knowing without Jaskier he would still be haunting The Alchemy, drunk and directionless. The pain of being in love was always better than the pain of having no love at all. Maybe if he spoke bluntly, he and Jaskier could come to an agreement to love as freely and as strongly as they could in their remaining time together, and upon Geralt’s departure, with all of their emotion expended, the experience could remain a pleasant memory to the both of them. A romantic fling, as it were. 

Geralt’s thoughts were interrupted by their arrival home, Jaskier returning Geralt’s cloak and rushing quietly inside the warm house. Geralt followed him through the sitting room and dining room to outside of his chambers.

“Well thank you for tonight,” Jaskier said, his voice weak and flat, exhausted from a mixture of drinking, making a life changing confession, and experiencing rejection. 

Geralt reached out and rested a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, keeping deep eye contact, “Anytime.”

And Jaskier crumbled under his touch, his hands coming up to cover his face as tears began to flow. His shoulders shook gently as he tried to keep his crying silent in the sleeping household. Geralt wasn’t sure what to do, but figured pulling him gently into his chest wasn’t a bad move.

“It’s alright,” Geralt murmured into the crown of Jaskier’s head, his hair tickling his nose, “You’re alright.”

Jaskier pulled back and stared up at Geralt with eyes wet with tears, before hopping up onto his tiptoes and leaning in.

Jaskier laid a gentle kiss on Geralt, lips closed and unsure, but as soft as clouds. Geralt’s arms around Jaskier tightened, his hands spreading out on his lower back, and he thoughtlessly returned the affection. He tilted his head to the side, and angled it down a bit to accommodate Jaskier's shorter stature. Their lips opened slightly and slotted together, moving softly, carefully. Jaskier reached up and clung desperately at Geralt’s hair, like he couldn’t believe the kiss was being reciprocated, and didn’t want it to end. 

The two eventually parted for air, their foreheads pressed together, breath coming quick and shallow. Geralt opened his eyes to look down at Jaskier, who stayed with his eyes pressed shut, cheeks bright pink and lips parted almost in shock. Geralt went to speak, but Jaskier quickly pulled away and looked at Geralt with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, that was a mistake, I-” He turned away to grab for his bedroom door, but Geralt caught his wrist and pulled him back in, Jaskier gasping with the movement.

Geralt threw caution to the wind and kissed him again. Deeper, more assured. Jaskier stood dumbly with his arms at his sides and let Geralt take control, ending the second kiss with a soft nibble at the bard’s lower lip.

“You’ve made no mistake,” Geralt whispered against Jaskier’s mouth, the younger man whimpering ever so quietly.

Geralt walked forward, Jaskier stepping backwards in time, and the two made their way into Jaskier’s room. Geralt closed the door behind him as the got in, and grabbed Jaskier by the waist to spin him around and pin him against the door.

“But you said-” Jaskier gasped as he searched Geralt’s eyes for some sense.

“First time for everything,” Geralt said before ducking down and kissing Jaskier’s neck, the bard tilting his head back, welcoming him in easily.

Geralt’s hands made quick work of untying and pushing off Jaskier’s tunic while he kissed, nibbled and licked over his neck and jaw. He stepped back and let Jaskier clumsily kick off his boots and pull down his pants, leaving himself standing in just his underwear. There was his hairy chest again, his milky white thighs on display now too, and a noticeable bulge in his underwear. It was all new, not in a scary way, but in an exciting way.

Geralt moved back towards Jaskier, eyes dark and hungry, ready to pounce and devour him. But Jaskier grabbed him by his collar and pushed him back towards the bed, until the back of his knees hit the side of the mattress and he sat down with a soft thud. Jaskier dropped to his knees in front of him and Geralt’s brain short-circuited.

“Can I-?” Jaskier’s hands found the tops of his thighs, grabbing at the material of his pants desperately, “Please. Can’t stop thinking about it.”

Geralt pulled off his own boots at the speed of lightning, throwing them across the room before shimmying out of both his pants and underwear and casting those aside, too. He was painfully hard, large cock slapping against his abdomen as it was freed. He spread his legs and looked down at Jaskier, who shuffled eagerly into the space he’d made, eyes wide and glued to his cock. He rested back on one palm and let the other hand find purchase in Jaskier’s hair.

“Y’alright?” he asked, Jaskier still just staring at him.

“Big,” is all Jaskier could choke out, letting one fingertip trail from the base to the tip in a slow, agonising motion. Geralt shuddered, needing Jaskier’s mouth on him yesterday.

“Is that good or b-” Geralt cut himself off with a moan as Jaskier took one hand around the base of his cock and wrapped his lips wetly around the tip.  
Jaskier moaned sweetly around Geralt, licking experimentally around his leaking tip. He suckled at it until Geralt found himself too sensitive, squirming around and grunting. Jaskier got the message and slowly began sinking himself down, taking Geralt’s cock deeper. He stopped and started a few times, getting used to the stretch of his jaw and the weight on his tongue. Geralt stroked his hair and let him go at whatever pace he wanted to set. Jaskier went down particularly far, overconfident, and let out a little gag before coming back up for air.

“You taste so good,” Jaskier whined up to him, dipping down to take his balls into his wet, eager mouth. He sucked at the left, then the right, then tried earnestly to fit both in, moaning wantonly as Geralt’s scent and taste overwhelmed him.

Geralt looked down in blissed out disbelief as he watched Jaskier feel around and learn. He was energetic, keen to lick, suck, and trace his fingers over every inch of Geralt’s thick length. Geralt tipped his head back and groaned Jaskier’s name deeply as he saw the bard reach his hand down into his underwear and touch himself, which made him whimper and take as much of Geralt’s cock down his throat as he could.

The two continued that way for a time neither of them could possibly track. Jaskier kept himself hard, but didn’t himself tip over the edge, and Geralt crept ever closer to his climax with every movement Jaskier made. Soon enough he felt a familiar heat in his lower belly, a tightening, and he grunted out a warning. 

“‘M close, Jaskier,” He gritted out between clenched teeth, using all his strength to hold himself back for a few more seconds to let Jaskier pull away and finish him with his hand.

Jaskier only moaned at the warning, taking Geralt deep and looking up at him with big blue eyes. His expression was innocent and open, and the sight of such a sweet boy with Geralt’s thick cock stretching his lips and stuffing his mouth full, ready to swallow his come, had him spilling for what felt like eternity.

Geralt was still riding the rolling waves of his orgasm when he felt Jaskier climbing up on top of him, straddling his thighs and whining. Geralt opened his eyes and saw Jaskier clumsily pushing down his underwear and rushing to get his own hard cock out, tugging at it quickly, without finesse. Geralt got down to business and smacked Jaskier’s hand out of the way, replacing it with his own. He knew the drill, he’d done this to himself a million times.

He stroked Jaskier firmly, thumbing over his leaking tip with every few upstrokes, spreading the precome over his achingly hard dick. Jaskier tucked his face into Geralt’s neck to stifle his moans and whimpers, his arms wrapping around the back of his neck to pull himself ever closer. Geralt sped up his movements, and let his other arm wrap around Jaskier’s slim waist. He could tell Jaskier was getting close by the trembling in his legs, the hitching of his breath, and the way his moans were getting higher and higher pitched, reaching a squeaky territory.

“That’s it,” Geralt said into his ear, his voice a deep, turned on rumble. Jaskier gasped and thrusted erratically into his hand, chasing his orgasm with desperation.

Geralt let his free hand drift down Jaskier’s lower back, and over his ass, before slowly creeping down further. He kept stroking rhythmically, and spread Jaskier’s cheeks with his free hand, letting his middle finger trace gently over his tiny puckered hole. Jaskier let out a choked gasp and clung tight to Geralt, biting down on his neck and spilling all over his hand and chest.

Geralt let Jaskier come down from his high, and guided him down onto his back, his head finding the pillows with a soft hum of appreciation. While Jaskier lay in his blissed out state, Geralt snagged one of the blankets from the foot of the bed, and used it to wipe his hand clean, before dabbing at Jaskier’s tummy and chest. Jaskier grumbled incoherently, probably not liking his blanket being soiled by his come. Geralt shushed him and laid down beside him, Jaskier immediately rolling over and resting his hand on his chest, one arm coming to drape over his stomach.

With Jaskier curled next to him, completely vulnerable and close to him, Geralt felt a primal need to protect him, to keep him safe. The dynamic felt right, like it was Geralt’s natural responsibility. He wanted to keep introducing Jaskier to new things, inside the bedroom and outside of it. Jaskier deserved a better life than the one he had, and Geralt wanted to give it to him. He hadn’t been this smitten in so many years, and blossomed in the warm feeling. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmured, his voice slightly scratchy, “but I’m still confused.”

Understandable, Geralt thought. He felt bad for letting his mixed signals make Jaskier feel lost.

“I like you, Jaskier,” Geralt said slowly, carefully, “and it confuses me too. But I’m happy about it.”

“I’m happy about it too,” Jaskier said sleepily, yawning and snuggling in even closer to Geralt’s side. 

Geralt contemplated how to continue explaining his feelings, the journey he had been on in the past few days, before he realised Jaskier was snoring. He would save it for the morning, he supposed. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay on this chapter! Enjoy! 
> 
> \---
> 
> 13/03 edit: this is a chapter reupload, please ignore if you've already ready chapter 5 prior to today! :)

The next few days of Geralt’s life were filled to the brim with boyish excitement and lust. He took Jaskier on two more nightly hunts. The first saw the two men carefully traverse the dark, weaving cave. Geralt had more trouble actively protecting Jaskier, who had become carelessly exhilarated by the thrill of the hunt. He stayed on Geralt’s heels, far too close, whispering questions and tripping over little rocks on the cave floor. 

“Watch your step,” Geralt grunted when Jaskier tripped yet again, bumping clumsily into Geralt’s back.

“Not all of us can swig a potion and have night vision,” Jaskier near hissed back, kicking a pebble melodramatically.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the collar and pinned him to a nearby wall, Jaskier whining when the moist rock undoubtedly dampened the back of his ridiculous velvet tunic. Geralt crowded close and brought his lips to Jaskier’s ear, the bard’s breath hitching as it always did when the Witcher overpowered and surrounded him.

“If you’re not going to behave, I’ll send you home,” he murmured, half-serious and half just in the mood to see Jaskier get blushy and flustered.

Jaskier tipped his head back and mewled, grinding his hips up against Geralt’s like it was seriously an option to fuck in a monster-infested cave. Geralt used his hand on Jaskier’s hip to push him back and keep him still, grinning as he pulled his head back and looked at Jaskier’s flushed face, his teeth sunk into his plush bottom lip.

“Well? Am I sending you back out to your horse?” Geralt teased.

“I’ll behave,” Jaskier breathed, voice quiet and hard to hear over the wind whistling through the cave entrance. 

“What was that?” 

Jaskier sighed loudly, echoing through the tunnel, “I’ll be on my best behaviour, you brute,” he pushed back against Geralt’s grip, acting annoyed. The bulge in his pants gave away the act, though.

Geralt chuckled and moved away, giving Jaskier a cheeky smack on the ass before going back to business as usual. Jaskier followed behind, being sure to watch his step as instructed.

It wasn’t long before ghouls appeared around Geralt, snarling and attacking. Jaskier hurried backwards to get a safe distance and lent his parchment up against a dry section of the walls. He alternated between watching Geralt swing his sword, and then frantically turning back to his paper to scribble down spur-of-the-moment poetry. Geralt caught sight of Jaskier writing as he was mid-battle, two ghouls down and two to go.

“Glad to see you’re concerned for my safety!” He yelled as Jaskier spared him but a passing glance before going back to his scrawling. 

“You can handle yourself!” Jaskier waved his hand dismissively at Geralt, “don’t pay attention to me, Geralt, be in the moment! This conversation won’t make for an inspiring ballad, cutting off a ghoul’s head will.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, not offended in the slightest - he could handle himself, obviously. He was actually quite charmed by Jaskier’s lack of fear, how safe he must feel with Geralt there. The rest of the journey after the first ghouls were slain was pretty routine, he fought off a couple more strays before his Cat potion started wearing off, and he decided to call it a night. 

The sex was half-baked and graceless for those few days, pure desperation stomping on any attempt of patient love-making. The two stole moments after sundown to get each other off with their hands, Jaskier oftentimes using his mouth. Geralt hadn’t gotten his mouth on Jaskier just yet, still easing into his attraction and sexuality, but he knew he wanted to soon. 

During the daytime, Geralt would converse respectfully with Helena, share his updates over breakfast or lunch. He would always eventually end up in Jaskier’s small garden alcove, to sit with the bard and drink in the atmosphere. The smell of roses and Jaskier’s sweet voice danced on the breeze, calming Geralt as he sharpened his swords, cleaned his armour, or meditated. It was in this garden that Geralt and Jaskier had their most sincere conversations, where they let their relationship grow from lust to love.

“I don’t want you to go,” Jaskier said softly one day, sitting his lute sadly on his lap. It was the day after their third hunt, and it had been a great one. 

~

Geralt had successfully cleared the cave of all evil, which had turned out to be a relatively easy task. The cave was smaller than thought, set out almost like a spider. Its tunnels all outstretched from a main middle space, being a small body of deep freshwater. Exhausted from battle, Geralt had sat on the ground at the edge of the water, looking down at his reflection in it. Jaskier sat behind him, legs outstretched on either side of the larger man, and kissed his back.

Geralt had hummed and tipped his head back to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder, letting Jaskier play with his hair. Jaskier loved playing with Geralt’s hair almost as much as Geralt loved having it played with, it was a beautiful match. They sat that way for a long while, neither could say just how long. Jaskier read out his writings for the night, rearranging the words as he spoke aloud, forming lyrics which he sang for Geralt. 

~

Geralt moved from his spot on the soft grass and kneeled in front of Jaskier, his hands holding his knees comfortingly. He spared a cautious glance around the area before ducking down and planting a soft kiss against Jaskier’s inner left knee. 

“I don’t want to go either,” Geralt replied, looking up at Jaskier. His face was so sad, but he was still so beautiful. The winter sun split through the grey clouds to luminate his softly, his nose pink from the wind and his hair messy and soft from how he always ran his hands through it when deep in thought. He really, really didn’t want to leave him. And he had really, really been trying not to think about the fact that he would soon have to.

Jaskier placed his hands over Geralt’s and leaned down so their foreheads gently touched. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, like he was trying to bring Geralt ever closer with his inhale. He opened his eyes and locked with Geralt’s, maintaining intense eye contact, a fire lit behind this blue irises.

“Let me come with you,” he whispered.

“What do you mean, Jaskier?”

“I mean, let me come with you,” Jaskier continued, “don’t you want every day to be like this? Every night?”

“Of course I do, but-”

Jaskier pulled at Geralt’s arms to make him come up and sit next to him, Geralt and his grass-stained knees happily obliged. 

“But what?”

Geralt knew that Jaskier knew why this wouldn’t work.

“You really think your parents would just let you run off with a Witcher? As great as it sounds, I can’t imagine it.”

“I can convince them it’s for artistic reasons. I want to tour my music and carry on the Pankratz legacy of creative genius. I can say that I will be completely safe, because you have offered to be my personal escort and guard for a highly attractive price,” Jaskier spoke fast and with confidence, like he had definitely spent some time thinking about this, “my mother loves you, and my father trusts her opinion. Plus, they’ve travelled the world, it would be hypocritical for them to forbid me from it. Oh! And I can say I will look for a prospective bride on my travels, they have been pushing me to find a girlfriend lately.”

Jaskier ended his speech with a hopeful smile, his hands clutching Geralt’s and his eyes big and bright. 

Geralt took a moment to process the information. 

“I don’t-”

“You don’t know, right. But I know. I know my family and I know that I could get this to work.” 

Geralt supposed Jaskier was right. If this plan were to ever work, it would be due to Jaskier’s knowledge and efforts, not his. All he could do was give Jaskier the yes to go ahead, or break his heart.

Once again he looked around the garden, scanning for guards, housekeepers or mothers, before turning back to Jaskier. He cradled his warm cheek in one hand, and kissed him softly. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed and he let one of his legs drape shamelessly over Geralt’s lap, never satisfied with how close they already were. Geralt broke the kiss and spoke against Jaskier’s parted lips.

“I don’t see why not,” he said softly, Jaskier’s lips stretching into a smile which nearly split his face in two. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt and pulled him in for a hug, swaying them back and forth a little in childish glee, causing Geralt to smile too.

“When are you going to ask her?” Geralt asked as they hugged, his nose finding Jaskier’s hair and burying itself in the soft strands.

“When she gets home for dinner, I suppose.”

“Your Mum isn’t home right now?” Geralt hadn’t known about Helena's apparent outing. Jaskier shook his head no. 

Geralt’s nails dug into Jaskier’s back to make the bard squeal and squirm, “then what are we doing out here, instead of in your bed?” he growled, standing up and carrying Jaskier up with him.

Jaskier went to wrap his legs around Geralt’s waist before stilling in his arms and wriggling. Right, Geralt couldn’t just carry Jaskier through his house and into his room. The staff would be rightfully scandalised. He quickly dropped Jaskier and winked at him before walking off, leading the way to Jaskier’s chambers.

The two were stripped naked within seconds of the door closing, Jaskier jumping up into Geralt’s arms and letting his thighs wrap around him freely. Geralt kept his hands on Jaskier’s waist and held him up effortlessly. The two kissed in the centre of the room, high on the idea of being able to run away together. Geralt soon felt Jaskier hardening against the muscles of his abdomen, and felt the slick of precome as Jaskier gently grinded against him as well as he could from his position in Geralt’s arms. 

Geralt moaned, wanting to feel some friction on his erection as well. He gripped Jaskier’s waist a little tighter and pulled him down, letting his cock slip between Jaskier’s cheeks, his tip catching against his dry hole.

Jaskier gasped and whined, digging his nails into Geralt’s shoulders and biting down on his neck. Geralt lifted Jaskier up and pulled him down again, ripping the same reaction out of the bard. He held Jaskier down against his cock and moved his own hips around subtly, letting the tip press more insistently against Jaskier’s entrance, way too big to breach him, but providing a delicious pressure that teased Jaskier mercilessly.

They hadn’t fucked properly yet, and Geralt doubted they had time to right now before Helena arrived back home. But this was a lovely little preview of what was going to inevitably happen. Jaskier continued to muffle his whimpers and whines into Geralt’s neck, pushing down wantonly, eager to feel Geralt fill him properly. Geralt had something else in mind, though. He eased Jaskier down onto the bed, letting him lie back against the headboard. 

Jaskier hummed and shuffled around to get comfortable, Geralt standing beside the bed still, drinking him in with his eyes. Once Jaskier was settled, Geralt climbed onto the mattress and knelt between his legs, using a hand on either thigh to ease them open. Jaskier looked down, curious, his head tilting to the side. Geralt smirked before ducking his head down and licking a long strip from the base of Jaskier’s cock to the tip.

“Oh, fuck, Geralt-” Jaskier arched his back off the bed and keened as Geralt sucked the tip into his mouth fully, his tongue swirling around and tasting his steadily leaking precome. It didn’t taste bad at all, Geralt thought. He decided to bring out the big guns and show off the fact that he did not have a gag reflex. 

When Jaskier hit the back of Geralt’s throat, and felt the Witcher swallow around him hungrily, he had to grip at his blankets with white knuckles to try and stave off his orgasm. His legs trembled, and he was flushed red all over. Geralt looked up at Jaskier with teasing eyes, moaning around his length.

Geralt pulled up off of Jaskier’s cock with a wet pop, kissing the tip and scratching his soft tummy playfully. 

“You don’t have to hold yourself back,” he said, decidedly just fine with the act of sucking a man off. He was keen to see how good at it he could be, having always been a competitive guy.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked breathily, eyebrows furrowed. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand and pulled it to rest at the back of his head. Jaskier instinctively threaded his fingers through the silver strands. 

“Do what you want with me,” Geralt growled, his eyes fluttering closed and moaning as Jaskier seemingly got the memo and gripped Geralt’s hair harder. 

“O-okay,” Jaskier said, not used to being in the dominant position, before pulling Geralt down onto his cock.

Geralt slid his mouth down with Jaskier’s direction easily, letting himself be carefully used.

He heard Jaskier moan above him, and echoed his sentiment as he felt himself being pulled up by his hair again, before being shoved back down with a much less gentle hand than before. Jaskier got lost in pleasure and began fucking Geralt’s face in earnest, thrusting up into his waiting mouth and he pulled him down, his movements messy and desperate.

Geralt was painfully hard, leaking against the sheets below him. He wanted to come so badly. He was loving having his hair pulled, and was ecstatic to be making Jaskier feel so good. He could taste Jaskier’s wetness on his tongue, knew he was going to release soon from the way he was shaking all over. He wanted to swallow Jaskier’s come, taste and know every inch of him. He let his right hand drift up to where his mouth was, full of Jaskier’s length. He looked up and made eye contact with Jaskier as he pushed his middle and index finger into his mouth alongside Jaskier’s cock.

“Fuck, oh my god,” Jaskier’s hand trembled in Geralt’s hair, “you’re so full, Geralt, fuck, you look so good.”

Geralt nodded and closed his eyes, getting his fingers nice and wet with his tongue and appreciating the stretch of his lips before drawing his hand out again. He continued to take Jaskier down his throat and distract him with his tongue as he moved his hand down lower between Jaskier’s open legs. His middle finger felt for Jaskier’s hole, and Jaskier’s whole body spasmed with the contact.

“I’m gonna,” Jaskier gasped out, “Geralt I can’t-”

Geralt knew he had mere seconds before Jaskier spilled, so he wasted no time in breaching Jaskier’s tight entrance with the wet tip of his finger, feeling him stretch around him. He slowly worked half his finger in before Jaskier came with a shout and a sob.

Geralt was held down on Jaskier’s cock as the bard came, his nose at his abdomen and his finger stretching him open. He swallowed eagerly, Jaskier’s seed surprisingly sweet. 

Jaskier came down from his orgasm slowly, steadying his breaths and looking like he wanted to sink into the mattress and sleep forever. Geralt decided to have some mercy on him and get himself off. He climbed up and straddled Jaskier’s middle, stroking himself quickly and intentionally. Jaskier jutted his chin out and murmured something unintelligible. 

“What?” Geralt asked, and God was his voice shot to shit.

“On my face,” Jaskier spoke up, and Geralt spurted a bit of precome over Jaskier’s chest at the request.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, sleepy and exhausted, but still desperate for Geralt.

Geralt felt himself reaching his finishing point after a couple minutes, and shuffled up on his knees gracelessly to be closer to Jaskier’s face. He clutched at the headboard with his free hand and braced himself as he tipped over the edge. He came in spurts over Jaskier, trying his best to control his aim as he felt his orgasm rock through him. Come striped up Jaskier’s cheek, and then over his forehead, and Geralt pointed himself further down as some ejaculate dripped into Jaskier’s fringe. The rest of his seed coated Jaskier’s lips, the younger man licking it up sweetly, humming approvingly.

“More,” Jaskier whispered as Geralt knelt above him, catching his own breath. 

“You wanna taste it?”

Jaskier nodded and parted his lips, eager to clean himself up.

Geralt let his free hand let go of the headboard and drift down to Jaskier’s soft face. He scooped his come up off of the bard’s cheek and brought it to his mouth. Jaskier sucked it in greedily, lapping up Geralt’s seed with a small smile, looking completely satisfied and at peace. Geralt could definitely get hard again in a few minutes at this rate.

He continued to feed Jaskier his come until it was all gone, much to Jaskier’s dismay. The bard was entirely blissed out, overcome by pleasure and lust. He craned his neck up to suck Geralt’s softened cock into his mouth, sucking at it gently. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” Geralt breathed, the endearment falling from his lips effortlessly.

Jaskier lapped at the wetness still lingering on Geralt, his hand coming up to fondle Geralt’s balls in a shameless effort to get him hard again. 

“You’re a menace,” Geralt groaned, “you’re too much.”

“I can stop if you want, sir.”

Geralt snapped, grabbing Jaskier roughly by his hair and forcing him down onto his cock. He wasn’t fully hard yet, so Jaskier could take him all the way down. Geralt held him there and fucked his mouth until he was hard again, Jaskier sweetly taking all he could. 

Jaskier pulled off eventually with a gasp, “I want you to fuck me,” he whined against Geralt’s stomach, nibbling cheekily at the soft skin. 

Geralt manhandled Jaskier and flipped him onto his stomach, before climbing on top of him and covering his body near-entirely. Jaskier was trapped underneath Geralt, hands gripping the headboard for dear life, his legs spread wide on the mattress. Geralt grinded down, his cock slipping between Jaskier’s cheeks and wetly sliding between them. The friction made them both moan, Geralt coming down to suck at Jaskier’s earlobe.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” he asked as he continued rolling his hips against Jaskier’s ass.

“Yes sir,” Jaskier replied, voice muffled as his face was half smushed into his pillow, no room to come up for air from his position under Geralt. Jaskier addressing him as ‘sir’ was going to be the death of Geralt. He wouldn’t let Jaskier get the upper hand with his audacious words, though.

“You want me to split you open with my nice big cock, dandelion?” 

Jaskier pushed back desperately against Geralt, as if he was trying to get his cock in there and then. He didn’t say anything back, didn’t really have to.

“Bet you couldn’t even take it today, with how tight you were around my finger,” Geralt kept going, teasing Jaskier like he was teasing him, “would probably come once I got two fingers inside you and beg me to stop.”

Jaskier trembles and whines, “No I wouldn’t,” he gasped.

“Yeah you would. God you’re such a slut,” Geralt’s own words were getting him close to his second orgasm, “I’m not gonna fuck you today, you’re going to have to just be patient. Can you be patient and wait for me?”

Jaskier nodded wordlessly.

“Good boy.”

Geralt felt Jaskier tense up under him, hiccuping and gasping for breath as he twitched and squeezed the wood frame of the headboard. He was coming against the sheets underneath him, and that knowledge tipped Geralt over the edge, too. He came against Jaskier’s ass, pulling back to let the last spurt coat his hole. 

He rolled off of Jaskier and collapsed next to him, lying on his back while Jaskier stayed on his belly. The two were rightfully exhausted, and stayed silent for a few minutes, coming down and cooling off. Geralt looked over at Jaskier, who had fallen asleep. He would’ve been happy to let him drift off, but he could see through the crack in the curtains that the sun was at its highest point, and would be setting soon, which meant dinner. 

He stroked Jaskier’s hair until he stirred awake. The bard cracked one eye open and looked at Geralt, a tired smile gracing his flushed face. Geralt smiled back, enamoured.

“How was that?” Geralt asked, pinching Jaskier’s cheek gently. Jaskier giggled quietly and shuffled in closer to Geralt, resting his head on his chest.

“So good,” he breathed.

“I agree,” Geralt said, “but once again, you’re a menace.”

“I know.”

The two cuddled for as long as they possibly could, before bathing each other lovingly to make sure they were come-free and sparkling before the Lady Pankratz arrived home. 

~

Jaskier ate dinner silently, presumably working up a nice bout of nerves before asking his mother if he could run off and travel the country with a Witcher. Geralt kept up small talk with Helena, who had spent the day picking up her Autumn wardrobe from the local seamstresses, and having it appropriately tailored. 

“Did you two get up to much today?” 

Jaskier chose that moment to chow down a particularly large mouthful of dinner, rendering himself unable to reply. Geralt held back an eye roll.

“I spent the day in the garden cleaning and sharpening my swords for tomorrow’s hunt. Jaskier entertained me with his new music while I worked,” Geralt said, “your son is a great songwriter.”

“Oh he is, isn’t he? I haven’t heard his new songs, though. What have you been writing about, dear?” she addressed Jaskier directly, who lied breezily.

“Well I have been bugging Geralt to tell me about his nightly hunts, you see. He has some fantastic stories, mother, and the world needs to know about them. His battles have made for some great ballads, I think.”

“Sounds like you two are making quite the golden creative team! It’s lovely to see,” Helena smiled, finishing off her meal and chasing it with wine.

“I was actually thinking about touring my new music,” Jaskier began, ready to start his pitch. His mother raised a curious eyebrow, nodding at him to continue.

“I’m an adult now, and it is my responsibility to carry on the family legacy of great art. I think it would be a great opportunity to travel for a while and perform, maybe find a young woman to bring home to you and father,” the performance was convincing, spoken by a true man of the theatre, “Geralt’s even offered to be my escort and guard to keep me safe. All he asks is for a split of the profits I make from performing.”

Lady Pankratz sat quietly, contemplating. She looked to Geralt.

“Is this true?”

“Yes. I think Jaskier’s work deserves an audience.”

She nodded, still quiet. Jaskier’s knee was bouncing nervously under the table. Geralt subtly reached to his side and put his hand over it to calm him. 

“I can’t give you an answer right now, I’ll have to send a messenger to your father,” she said, her face deliberately clear.

Jaskier looked slightly crestfallen, but not surprised.

“Of course, mother. May I ask for your personal opinion?”

“I don’t like the idea. You’re my only son, Jaskier, you know how precious you are to me and to the family name.”

“I would be totally safe! You know Geralt wouldn’t let anyone touch me,” Jaskier argued, unable to help himself.

Helena sighed, “I’m not doubting Geralt’s abilities. But I’m your mother, and it’s my duty to worry about you regardless.”

Jaskier leaned back and crossed his arms, and Geralt felt incredibly awkward.   
“Whether you’re worried or not shouldn’t even matter, I’m a man now, I could just go,” Jaskier was beginning to unravel before Geralt’s eyes, and he couldn’t do much to stop him.

“Oh really?” Helena's eyes widened, probably not used to being spoken back to, “are you blissfully unaware of your responsibilities? You are a Pankratz, Julian, and you are the sole carrier of a heavy legacy.”

“A responsibility I had no choice in! How is that fair? To be born into duty, no chance at a free life?” Jaskier’s voice trembled slightly.

“You live much better than many others do.”

“And I know that, mother. I’ve lived a life of bounteous luxury. But truth be told, I’d like to try something else for a while.”

Helena laughed in her son’s face, “and you’ll decide you hate it and come crawling back in a month.”

Jaskier stood and slammed his hands on the table, “but at least I would have made that decision on my own! Instead of having what I do, what I like, and how my entire fucking life is going to pan out all decided for me!”

Helena stood up too, unwilling to let someone else get the upper hand against her, “If you continue like this Julian, you won’t have anywhere to come crawling back to once the real world chews you up and spits you out.”

“Like I’d ever want to come back to this prison cell,” Jaskier bit out.

“Get out.”

“With pleasure.”

Jaskier stormed out the room in the direction of his chambers, Geralt resisting the urge to chase after him.

“And you agree with my son, do you?”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. He nodded wordlessly, his affection for Jaskier ultimately outweighing his loyalty to his contract. 

“You’ve planted these ideas into his head with your wild stories,” she said with malice, “seduced him out of the safety of his home with delusions of grandeur.”

“He came to his ideas on his own, my Lady-”

“You know you may have doomed the next generations of our family name? Do you recognise the consequences of your actions?”

Geralt was seeing a selfish side of Lady Pankratz he had not been exposed to before. Tied up and controlled by her legacy and her public appearance. It was sickening that she had been moulding her son to live for the responsibility of carrying on her unmindful ways, living for an image, for material wealth and fame. 

“Forgive me, but I think your son is allowed to live outside the confines of a name,” Geralt replied coolly. 

“I can’t forgive you, Geralt. Your thoughtlessness has proved costly. I will be terminating your contract effective immediately and I would like you out of my house. Keep your upfront payment and be gone,” with her final statement, she left the room and withdrew to her own private chambers.

Geralt couldn’t say he was unhappy with being kicked out, no longer feeling any friendly attachment to Helena. If he lost out on 400 crowns, so be it. And if he was going, then Jaskier was going with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


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